Ash's Return v2: Zen and the Art of Cheating
by Questionnaire
Summary: All his life, Ash has had a dream: to Catch 'Em All. And now, he's finally done it- or has he? What mystery awaits him on Cinnabar's shore? And is he ready for where it will take him?
1. Chapter 0: Axiom

**[AN: This is a rewrite (not a sequel) of my earlier story of the same name, to fix a few problems and make some stylistic improvements. If you haven't read the original, don't – I'll bet you'll find this version much more enjoyable.**

**Now, without further ado...]**

* * *

どこかしら？

_Where am I?_

_A diffuse glow from the dim sky, a blank map of a blank territory, perched upon the thin edge between day and night. No sound but of myself. I sit myself up, hands scraping against the uneven ground. A road stretches out before me, without beginning or end, through a still, silent city, a city of shadows and ciphers, a hollow shell of bygone life. Broken façades on all sides, ending abruptly at crooked angles; bare trees with roots ahead and branches behind; a deep pool of water on a flat surface._

_Something is not right about this place. How did I get here? I don't understand._

_I gaze down into the puddle. A sparkle of light strikes my eye through the shimmering surface. I kneel and reach into the cold water. It is a sphere of metal, barely too large to conceal in my hand, its flawless surface marred only by a thin chain extending from it, back into the water. I draw it out further. To the other end of the chain a single ring is linked, from which hangs a single silver skeleton key. The handle of the key is inscribed with a symbol: ∞  
_

_I turn around to the building behind me. What's inside? I peer through the window. There is nothing. No image, no reflection, no light. Not even black. Nothing. The color of blindness._

_I try the doorknob. Won't budge. It must be locked…_

_I slide the key into the lock. It fits. It turns._

_I open the door._


	2. Chapter 1: Interrupt

"Pikachu, Thunderbolt attack!" Ash was as intense and focused as ever, for all the times he had repeated those exact words.

Pikachu wound up: "Pi-ka-chu!" But this latest adversary would not be as easily fazed as his predecessors. With a swift wave of his hand, Mewtwo sent the little mouse flying across the cold cavern chamber, dropping him down into the still lake around the shallow stone platform on whose edge the legendary creature stood. An echo of a splash returned across the distance to the stunned trainer's ears.

"No! Pikachu!"

"Ash, don't look away! Send out another Pokémon, quick!"

"Right, Brock! Squirtle, I choose you!"

"Squirtle? Are you out of your mind?"

"I know what I'm doing, Misty! Squirtle, Hydro Pump attack!"

Squirtle withdrew into his shell, twirling amid gushing jets of water, which merely bounced lightly off Mewtwo's force-field. Another dismissive hand-wave, and Squirtle jumped down into the water, chasing his own tail, around and around.

"It must be Mewtwo's Confusion attack!" yelled Brock. "Do something!"

"Squirtle, return!" Ash reached for his set of Pokéballs. "Bulbasaur, I ch–" But the rest of the command came out only as a weak gasp of breath.

"Ash, what's wrong?" Misty yelled. "Ash?"

"It's the Paralysis attack," Brock whispered ominously.

Ash stood there, desperate and motionless, hand still on his belt. He struggled even to wiggle his fingers and blink his eyes, but it was no use; the Psychic's power was like an invisible demon of terrifying strength had grabbed him, holding back his every move.

_You cannot defeat me._ The eerie, disembodied voice drowned out all other sounds, even as it seemed to originate from nowhere in particular.

_Mewtwo?_ Ash thought, or rather replied, but to him they were one and the same.

_Yes, it is I. Turn back now, if you wish to live. My patience wears thin._

_No, I cannot turn back now. Only one now remains, and that is you,_ Ash protested.

_Very well. Few are foolish enough to test my true power; none have lived to remember…_

_Concentrate. Concentrate, Ash,_ Ash repeated to himself. _I must defeat him, somehow._

Mewtwo's smug derision needed no words. He held his hands together, and between them began to gather a scalding white light.

"Oh no…" intoned Misty. "Not–"

"Hyperbeam," said Brock.

"Let him go!" Misty shouted.

But of course, Ash heard neither of them. _"All that you know, the Psychic knows,"_ he remembered hearing somewhere, perhaps from an old master. _"He who would outwit the Psychic, must therefore outwit himself."_

_A tired adage,_ answered Mewtwo, _But you cannot think faster than me._

A notion occurred to Ash. To call it a thought would be to give it too much credit; it was more of an unformed feeling, an instinct borne not from any mystic power within, but from a long journey of guesswork and sympathy. _Yes, I cannot, but–_

"Pi-ka-CHU!" His loyal compatriot had swum back, and now struck with his strongest Thunder at Mewtwo's feet. Could he possibly have been taken by _surprise_?

What happened next took only half a second, but Ash was determined to make the most of it.

Mewtwo stumbled backward slightly from the unexpected shock. The remnant of the cat's natural reflex took over, and he threw out his tail and arms in an attempt to land upright. The malformed Hyperbeam escaped into the cave's ceiling, while Ash, regaining his mobility, reached for a Pokéball and hurled it forward. It hit its target just as he plunged face-first into the ice-cold water, and in a burst of red energy he disappeared. Without thought or hesitation, Ash reached for a second Pokéball and threw it at the first, capturing the first inside the second.

"Yes!" Ash exclaimed. "No way he's escaping that!"

"Did you just…?" asked Brock, with palpable astonishment. But a falling pebble tapped him on the shoulder.

"Uh-oh," Misty looked up at the gaping crack left by the errant Hyperbeam, through which the light of day now peeked. The raining gravel turned into fist-sized clumps of earth, and a deep rumble resounded through the cavern. "Ash, we'd better get out of here," she warned.

But all his attention was now honed in on the writhing Pokéball. "Come on, come on…"

"Ash, what are you waiting for?" Brock shouted.

He cautiously crept toward the floating ball, entirely focused on the red light in the center; it was only by good fortune that the rocks missed him. "Almost…"

_You may have caught me, human._ The incorporeal voice began to fade away, as did the red light. Ash scooped his prize up out of the water. _But you'll never–_

"ASH! Let's go, NOW!" Brock and Misty grabbed Ash by the arms, pulling him back from the edge, and they joined together with Pikachu in a final sprint up to the exit, to escape from the soon-to-be ruined cave.

**[AN: Stay tuned for more next week!]**


	3. Chapter 2: Inference

_What happened? I look back at the door. But I just went into the building. How am I still outside?_

_The road continues ahead, forking into unseen branches. Which way do I go? How can I know? Does it matter?_

_I catch something out of the corner of my eye. I turn around. Floating in midair, a key. Weird. I reach out to take it. It falls to the ground, as if knocked from an invisible perch, clinking against the rocks. I pick it up._

_A key, marked:_ ∪


	4. Chapter 3: Busy Beaver

Ash Ketchum: The one who Caught 'Em All.

Such was the news that preceded him on his journey back to his hometown of Pallet, where already he was beginning to become something of a household name, at least among a certain segment of youngsters who dreamed to Catch 'Em All themselves, as well as a few old fogies who still maintained it was a fool's errand that couldn't be done.

Ash, Misty, and Brock were in no hurry, however. They were walking at a leisurely pace down the grassy trail of Route One, relieved that their adventure was finally at an end.

"Well Ash, that was quite a show back there," said Brock, breaking the silence. "What was it like? It looked like you were under his control for a long time."

"It all happened so fast," Ash answered. "But it almost felt like he was _inside my mind_ for a moment. Real creepy feeling, I don't recommend it."

"Lucky that Pikachu knew to come and save you when he did," Misty remarked.

"Pi-ka!" he chirped at the mention.

"It was weird," Ash continued. "It was like, I didn't know what he was going to do, but at the same time I kinda felt it coming anyway… An instinct, you might say."

"Actually, that kind of makes sense," said Brock, pondering the matter a little. "Psychics can read your thoughts, so a Psychic will always know what you're going to do before you do it. That's why all the other trainers who tried to catch Mewtwo have failed. They _think_ too much. But what about someone who just acts impulsively all the time without thinking about it? What if there _is_ no mind to read?"

"I think I get it," Misty chuckled quietly. "I suppose Mewtwo never stood a chance."

About a minute passed wordlessly.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

* * *

A small crowd had assembled to greet the town's new heroes by the northern gate. Among them were a few of the aforementioned youngsters, armed with autographable memorabilia; front and center were the ones responsible for most of the hubbub – Mrs. Ketchum and Professor Oak. Even Ash's perennial nemesis, Gary Oak, stood there at the edge of the crowd, albeit with a look of wanting to be somewhere else.

"Ash!" his mother shouted, as soon as he was within range. "Come here and give your mother a hug!" She ran ahead to meet him, leaving him with little choice in the matter.

"Mom!" he reciprocated, as Pikachu jumped out of the way. "Pikapi-ka!"

"Oh Ash, my baby," she squealed, smothering him with maternal kisses. "I missed you so much!"

"All right, that's enough Mom, you're embarrassing me!"

"I say, Ash, I can hardly believe it myself," Oak intervened. "Who would have thought that one of our own would finally go out and complete the Pokédex?"

"How'd you know?" asked Misty.

"Trust me, this type of thing doesn't stay secret very long," answered the professor. "As a matter of fact, we prepared a celebration back at the lab, and we'd be delighted if the three of you could join us."

"Wow, thank you, professor!" said Brock.

"Is there gonna be free food?" exclaimed Ash immediately. "Come on, let's go!"

"Yo, Ketchup." Gary's grating voice was recognizable anywhere. "Yeah you. Whatcha gonna do with all those Pokémon? You think you can handle Mewtwo? Have you even gotten _your own Charizard_ to listen to you yet?"

"Hey, I Caught 'Em All, that's what matters!"

"Well, now that there's no more, I bet your life's gonna be empty and meaningless."

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"Don't worry about it brah," he smirked as he walked off. "Smell ya later!"

* * *

Dusk came quietly upon the little hamlet. It was the time when the tiny-birds would come back to roost, and the first of the evening stars would shine out towards the east. Brock, Pikachu, and a few others were still back enjoying the remnants of the festivities at Oak's lab. But the guest of honor had snuck out – he sat on a ledge by the shore, dangling his feet, mindlessly tossing rocks into the water, as he stared pensively at the horizon.

"Y'know, they used to take me here to play when I was little," he said, hearing Misty's footsteps behind him. "I would try and collect all the shells on the beach. The other kids would be swimming, or making sand castles, but there I was, collecting, counting, one by one–"

She detected a hint of discomfort in his voice. "Is something the matter, Ash?"

"Something… something doesn't feel right. I just– I don't know…"

"Is it about what Gary said? Because believe me, I know jealousy when I see it."

"No, it's not that… It's just that, y'know, I've been home a few hours, and already, it's like…"

"What's this really about, Ash? Why are you all worried all of a sudden?"

"Do you ever get that feeling, Misty, like there's something else you ought to be doing right now? Like somewhere, someone is waiting, waiting for you to return…"

"What are you trying to say?"

"I– I'm not supposed to be here," he replied, the thought coming into full focus even as he searched for the words. "Gary was wrong. I am not finished. There is still another Pokémon left. And it's waiting for me, somewhere."

"How can you be so sure? We all know there are 150 Pokémon, and Mewtwo is the last. What makes you think you can catch even more?"

"I don't know if you'll ever understand, Misty," he said. "You haven't spent your entire life searching for them. But I know it. I can feel it. I know there's another Pokémon out there, and I can never rest until I find it. And that's why" – he stood up and raised his voice to a defiant shout – "I'm heading out first thing tomorrow morning! We've got Pokémon to catch, and Pokémon wait for no one!"


	5. Chapter 4: Hypothesis

_I come through another door with my new keys. Another, and another. Am I lost? Was I ever not?_

_I step on something. A crumpled, dirty wad of paper on the ground. I pick it up and unfold it. What does it say?_

_Only a symbol: _∋_  
_

_There is an image as well. I brush off the dust. Looks like a picture of a key?_

_I look around, to make sure I am alone. As if I'm embarrassed by what I'm about to do… I place the picture flat on the ground, close my eyes and reach down. The cold touch of metal–_

_I open my eyes with a shock. The blank paper blows away into the wind, leaving the key in my hand._


	6. Chapter 5: The Universal Machine

Barely had one journey ended when another was to begin. The trio of adventurers was preparing their raft by the shore, as Starmie, Staryu, Goldeen, and Squirtle waited obligingly with their tethers in the water, which Pikachu was busy tying up. Professor Oak had come to the dock to see them off.

"Always on the move, I see," he observed. "Where do you plan on going next?"

"I figured we'd head to Cinnabar Island first," Ash replied. "You know that abandoned lab where they made Mewtwo? Thought there might be something there."

"Yeah, evidence of a new Pokémon," Brock clarified.

Oak's expression darkened perceptibly. "Something about that place… would always give me the creeps. Be careful, all of you. I don't want you to end up like–"

"Ash, sweetie, you forgot something!" His mother came running down at them over the hill, carrying a small satchel. "Ash, you almost left all the clean underwear I packed you! Make sure you change them every day, and make sure you eat your fruits and vegetables, and don't forget to call me every week, and always remember–"

"Uh, thanks, Mom… We'd better get going soon, they're getting antsy," he said, glancing at the squadron of water Pokémon ready to pull them along the aquatic route to Cinnabar Island.

"Squirtle-squir!" They began to recede from the shore.

"Okay, goodbye everyone, take care of yourselves!" she called out.

"We will! Bye!" the three of them said together.

"Pika!"

* * *

Ash's stomach grumbled loudly. "Ugh, are we there yet? It feels like we've been on this raft for hours."

Brock turned around. "Look, Ash, I see it! Cinnabar Island!"

"Oh, I'm so excited!" said Misty. "We haven't been there in so long! Remember how nice the beach was?"

"Ah yes, the beach…" Brock's sentence trailed off into a vision of bikini-clad beach patrons.

"Suit yourselves," said Ash, "but me and Pikachu are heading straight for the old laboratory as soon as we can. I want to get to the bottom of this."

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" asked Brock. "Like Professor Oak said, something's sketchy about that place."

Ash shrugged sheepishly. "Well, if you two are too _scared_, and you just want to hang out at the beach, that's perfectly fine with _us_, right Pikachu?"

"Pi-ka?"

Misty placed her hands on her hips. "Ash, whenever you go snooping around mysterious abandoned places, we always end up having to come and rescue you. Better to save some time and just come with you from the start."

"Yeah," Brock agreed, looking around, "and besides, the, uh, turnout at the beach wasn't quite as great as I'd hoped, if you know what I mean…"

Squirtle was tying up the raft at the dock, as Ash surveyed the beach. "Whaddya mean Brock, there's plenty of guys to hang out with here."

"Uh, you keep thinking that Ash… but anyway: we're coming with you, and that's that."

"Okay, fine. I'll, uh, _let_ you come along." His stomach growled again. "But let's get something to eat first, shall we?"

* * *

"Careful Ash!" whispered Brock, as they tiptoed warily across the creaky floor of the Cinnabar Lab. "We don't want to disturb any of the wild Pokémon!"

"Right." Ash swept his flashlight back and forth, illuminating a beam of dust. "It might be behind that door?"

The heavy metal portal swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges, to which they all winced nervously. It revealed a floor covered with broken flasks and test tubes, a table of tarnished instruments, and a computer on a desk covered in a thick layer of dust.

"What do you think we'll find here?" Misty asked.

"This is where they created Mewtwo, remember?" Ash replied. "That means there must be some way of making a completely new Pokémon. There's gotta be something about it here." He rummaged through the drawers of the desk.

"Did you hear that?" whispered Brock nervously.

"Hear what?"

"Oh… never mind…"

"Hey you guys, look at this!" Ash opened a thick folder with a faded label "_PROJECT MU_." He blew off the dust and started to rifle through the papers inside.

"What do you think this means?" He read off the title of the first document, stammering slightly over the academic vocabulary. "It says, 'On Formally Unenumerable Representations in RBY and Related Systems.'"

"What in the world is an Unenumerable Representation?" Brock wondered.

"Dunno, let's keep looking." Ash passed out a third of the stack to each of the others.

Brock flipped through his portion. "It says here," he began, "'The machine arrived from Silph Co. last night. We are ready to begin tests… A Rhydon was successfully synthesized, although its behavior is abnormal…'"

"They made a Pokémon from a machine?" Misty interrupted. "What kind of machine can do that?"

"I don't know," said Ash, "but we need to find out. What else does it say?"

"Here… look!" Brock continued. "It says, 'The UTM appears to be functioning as specified.' What's UTM?"

"Hmm…" wondered Misty, burying her eyes in her own packet. "I think I saw… It's somewhere here… Ah yes, see, here!" They huddled around to read the document.

_TOP SECRET – DO NOT LEAVE LYING AROUND!_  
_UNIVERSAL TECHNICAL MACHINE_  
_SPECIFICATIONS SHEET_  
_An experimental-phase field-programmable device with the capability of emulating any Technical Machine or Pokémon abstract representation. May cause erratic behavior if used outside standard parameters._  
_Model No.: 47176870_  
_4.194304MHz, 8KB_  
_DC6V 0.7W_

"What's all that mean?"

"I don't know Ash," Brock replied. "But I don't like the sound of it."

"Hmm… does it say any more about this machine?"

"Well, let's see…" Misty turned to the very last page.

_Dear Professor ██████,_  
_We regret to inform you that Silph Co. has discontinued the UTM series due to irresolvable system instability issues. All non-prototype models have been recalled and destroyed. Our legal counsel cautions us that we must formally advise against the continuation of this research._  
_Sincerely,  
Silph Corporation_

"I guess they didn't take the advice," said Ash.

"You know," Brock speculated, "something's fishy about this letter. It seems like the kind of thing they'd put in the file so they could later deny knowing what was really going on. I mean, 'formally advise'? What is that? You'd think if they really wanted the research to stop, they would've just said so."

"So what are we gonna do now?" Misty asked.

Ash stared at the yellowed paper for a moment. "Hmm," he said, "it says 'non-prototype models.' That means that they must've kept the prototype of the Machine somewhere, right? Where could it be? It'd probably be at the Silph Headquarters, and that's in Saffron City…"

"Ash, I know where you're going with this. Are you insane?" Misty objected. "How can you possibly think that this is a good idea? Do you even know what happened to these people? Whatever it was, they left and didn't come back. And these are professionals we're talking about. And frankly… you're just some kid from a little backwater village."

"Just some kid? You're talking to the one and only Ash Ketchum of Pallet Town, the one who Caught 'Em All!"

"Guys, could you keep it down a little?" exhorted Brock desperately.

"Well, maybe, Ash, if you weren't so full of yourself you wouldn't–"

A loud clang of metal on metal resounded down the hallway. And what sounded like the howl of a screaming cat.

Then footsteps.

"Misty, Ash, you can argue later! Let's get the hell outta here!"


	7. Chapter 6: Proof

_Days, months, years? Meaningless by now. Doors and keys, that is all. Always more, ever unremitting._

_Three more keys come along. With them my ring now numbers six._

∞ ∪ ∋ : ƒ ,

_Is that the last of them? I don't think so. When I find it, I'll know. Then, there will be no more locks to hold me. For me, nothing will remain hidden. I will be the master of this world._

_I must find it._

_I will find it._

* * *

**[AN: Sorry it's been so long! I've been working on the next chapter ("Parallel Process"), which is by far the longest and most complex chapter in the entire story. (Warning: Time travel is involved!)]**


	8. Chapter 7: Parallel Process

**[AN: At long last, here it is! Unlike its previous incarnation, which can with some difficulty be flattened into plain-text, this version of "Parallel Process" is literally impossible to represent in any other form. Therefore, if you want to read the whole thing, read the PDF version here: bit._ly/_tOtswI or as a single continuous image here: i._imgur._com_/mcQ3A_.gif ]  
**

**You might even want to print it out :-)**

**Here's a little music to set the mood, if you're a fan of such things: youtu._be/_4vvJgBh0IlQ**

**I must confess to a certain amount of intellectual exhaustion after completing this chapter. (The next chapter will be a lot lighter, you can be sure!) By far the most difficult part of it was the "retrograde inversion" between Brock and Misty towards the end (trust me, you'll know when it happens). I had entertained the notion of writing an entire story like that, but I now realize that that would simply cause my brain to explode…**

**Anyway, enjoy!]**

* * *

Saffron – the City of Golden Radiance. Though Ash had seen many things, the bright lights and big city never ceased to amaze the young backwater villager.

"I still think this is a stupid idea," Misty sighed, walking slightly behind Brock and Ash up the steps to the food court of the nationally-renowned Saffron City Central Shopping Plaza.

"Nobody's forcing you to come along," Ash retorted, "and yet, here we are…"

"Hmph." She had to admit, if only inwardly, that she had been seeking an excuse to come and visit this mall for quite some time. But Brock and Misty having respectively tortured Ash with several tedious hours of browsing for breeding- and fishing-related paraphernalia, they figured it was now his turn.

"So, what's the plan?" Brock prompted, as the three of them sat down with their lunch boxes, Pikachu with his in miniature. "That was a close call back there at Cinnabar. But the Silph Headquarters is one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the world."

"Yeah," Misty agreed, "I don't think your usual 'make it up as you go' approach is gonna work here."

"Way ahead of ya, guys." Ash proceeded to unroll a large blueprint out onto the table, weighing down its four corners with a pair of jumper cables, a Pokéball, two flashlights, and a pink dress from the costume shop.

"…"

"…"

* * *

They gathered in a huddle in the opulently marbled lobby of the Silph Headquarters building, next to the grand fountain. "All right, you guys ready?" asked Ash one last time. They nodded, and placed their hands together.

"Okay. One, two, three…"

* * *

**[At this point, the text splits into three columns to represent our heroes' simultaneous actions. Again, here's the PDF: bit._ly/_tOtswI or the image: ****i._imgur._com_/mcQ3A_.gif** ]


	9. Chapter 8: Race Condition

"To protect the world from devastation,"

"To unite all peoples within our nation,"

"To denounce the evils of truth and love,"

"To extend our reach to the stars above–"

"Jessie!"

"James!"

"Team Rocket blast off at the speed of light!"

"Surrender now or prepare to fight!"

"Meowth, that's right!"

They hovered ominously overhead in their Meowth-shaped balloon. "It's Team Rocket!" shouted Brock.

"Wow, what gave it away?" Jessie sneered. "Was it the Team Rocket uniforms? Or was it the part where we said 'Team Rocket'?"

Ash sat himself up off the ground next to Pidgeotto with an exasperated sigh. "Really? Are you serious? We don't have time for this."

"Okay then, we'll make it quick," answered James.

Meowth brandished his claws. "Just hand ovah da Machine and nobody gets hoyt!"

Ash scratched his head with some nervousness. "Heh, uh, what do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"Give me a break, twerp," Jessie interrupted immediately. "Do you think we're _that_ stupid?"

"Well, actually…"

"We've been following you," James continued unfazed. "We know all about this Machine you just stole from Silph."

"And now we're gonna steal it from you!" said Meowth.

"Never!" Ash shouted back defiantly. "The Machine's mine, and you're not getting it! Isn't that right you guys?"

"Uh, Ash," Misty replied, "I don't think you're really in a position to talk about _rightful ownership_ here."

"Oh come on Misty, would you rather let Team Rocket take it?"

"I'm just gonna stay out of this," she answered.

"Fine, I'll do it myself. All right Team Rocket, looks like we can only decide this with a Pokémon battle. You're gonna regret coming here!"

"Ooh, is that a challenge?" said James mockingly. "Very well then. Go, Weezing!"

"You too! Go, Arbok!" Jessie threw a Pokéball down to the ground.

"Weezing, Smokescreen attack now!" ordered James.

A heavy cloud of black smog descended upon them from above, obscuring the three of them in darkness. Ash could hear Brock and Misty coughing somewhere amidst the haze, but could hardly see a foot in front of his face.

"Ash, get this stuff out of here!" came Brock's voice.

"Pidge– Yowch!" Ash felt a furious swipe across the cheek by what must have been Meowth. "That hurt! Pidgeotto, use Gust to clear this away!"

"Pid-jaw!" With a flapping of wings the smoke dispersed, revealing Arbok leering at Misty and Brock.

"Kchaaaah-baaaah!" the great snake hissed.

"Arbok, Poison Sting!" Jessie commanded.

"Ka-CHU!" Pikachu quickly took the initiative and knocked out the Cobra Pokémon with a Thunderbolt attack.

"Nice work, Pikachu!" said Ash. "Now, Pidgeotto, you know what to do!" Pidgeotto took off and made an upward dive beak-first towards the surface of the balloon.

"Oh no!" said Jessie. "Arbok, return!"

"You too, Weezing." James recalled his Pokémon, while Jessie was drawing Meowth back up by a rope. With a pop and a hiss now familiar to all, Pidgeotto pierced straight through Team Rocket's balloon and out the other side.

All three of them cried out in unison: "Looks like Team Rocket's blasting off again!", and they spiraled off into the starry sky with a twinkle.

Ash recalled Pidgeotto and ran over to Brock and Misty. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah, no biggie," Misty answered. "That was over pretty fast."

"Well, it's Team Rocket, what do you expect," replied Ash.

Brock checked his watch. "Guys, we'd better get out of here. Silph is still looking for us. If we hurry, we can catch the midnight train to Celadon and be out of town before they find us."

"Sounds good," Misty affirmed. "C'mon Ash, let's run!"

They heard a rustling of leaves approaching them, and Abra came crawling towards them with a somewhat dazed look. "Hey, it's Abra!" exclaimed Ash. "This is perfect. We can get there faster this way. Abra, Teleport us to the–"

Misty interposed herself between Abra and Ash, cutting off his words with a light nudge. "Trust me. Don't go there."

* * *

They settled themselves into a booth at a late-night diner-arcade in one of the seedier neighborhoods of Celadon city, where amidst the chirping of the slot machines and the clatter of the _pachinko_ balls they could be reasonably sure of not being eavesdropped upon by anyone who cared. Ash was already digging into his second plate of pancakes; Brock and Misty were eating at a more polite pace.

"So let me get this straight," said Brock for the third or fourth time. "You're saying that you brought Abra back to save yourself, and he used Double Team in the elevator, so that one copy could escape, and the other could stay and help you?"

"…Basically, yeah," Misty replied.

"But how does that work?" he persisted. "No Pokémon can maintain Double Team indefinitely; even the most powerful ones have to make themselves whole again before too long."

"No, but he did when he came back around" she explained. "You see, if half of Abra escaped, and half went back with me, then the second time around, a quarter of him escaped and a quarter went with me, and then an eighth escaped and an eighth went with me, and then a sixteenth, and so on…" She waved her hand in a circular motion. "And that adds up to a whole Abra, right?"

"I guess…?" Something about this line of reasoning left Brock not entirely satisfied, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

"Wait a second," Ash interjected through a mouthful of food, "how did Abra get there in the first place?"

Misty covered her head with her hands and laid her face onto the table. "Can we _please_ talk about something else?"

"All right, I won't ask any more… So, Ash, what's the deal with this Machine? Can we see it?"

"Mmm." He gulped down his current bite. "Sure thing. Got it right here." He revealed the small box from his pocket.

"That's it?" Misty said. "That dinky little thing?"

"Sure, Misty, I saw it myself. Here, take a look." He carefully opened the lid of the box. Inside was a stack of flat, oblong frosted pastries resting on top of a colorful greeting card, which Ash unfolded in confusion. An upbeat pop-techno melody began to play. "Nyan nyan nyan nyan, nyan nyan nyan nyan nyan…" the card sang, accompanying an enclosed picture of a grinning Meowth making a beckoning gesture.

"What's that thing, Ash?" inquired Brock. "Ash?"

Ash was silent. He crushed the package in one hand. There was fire in his eyes.

* * *

Jessie cackled deviously, looking down at the sleeping countryside from the basket of the repaired balloon. "Marvelous plan, James. Brilliantly executed."

"You weren't too shabby yourself, Jessie," he replied.

"And remember, ya couldn'ta done it wittout Meowth!" He turned the Machine over in his paws, amazed by the shiny screen on the front and the cartridge plugged into the back.

"Can always count on the twerps to send us far away in a hurry," Jessie remarked. "And the best part of it is, by the time they realize what happened, we'll already be in Viridian with the boss!"

"And when he sees that we brought him this machine," continued James, "he'll promote us on the spot!"

"You know, James, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I don't know, Jessie, what were you thinking I was thinking?"

"This isn't any ordinary machine we've got here. This is the _Universal_ Machine. They say it can make _any_ Pokémon you want, or an unlimited number of _any_ item."

"An unlimited number?" James marveled, picking up the Machine. "You mean I can make a whole bunch of gold Nuggets just _appear_, just by wishing for it?"

"So they say," she affirmed.

"Well then what are we waiting for?" James exclaimed. "Hello Machine! Make me ten thousand gold Nu–"

Jessie snatched it out of his hand and smacked him across the face with it. "No, you idiot! There's no way we can carry that much weight in our balloon!"

James looked down over the edge, as if to remember where he was right now. "Oh, right."

"No," she went on, "we need to land the balloon somewhere first. Somewhere with lots of suckers who'll buy bazillions of Nuggets and Rare Candies from us at premium prices. But it has to be far away from anywhere else, or else the boss might find out that we've been skimming stuff on the side…"

"Oh, I know!" said James. "Let's go back to Cinnabar Island! Nobody's got a clue what's going on there."

"Cinnabar Island, I like that," Jessie replied. "Once we land there, we'll get this Machine working at full capacity–"

"And then we'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams!" squealed James.

"Uh-oh, you guys," Meowth interrupted, looking behind them over the edge of the basket through a pair of binoculars. "Sometin' on da horizon, I tink it's followin' us!"

"What? No way! Give me those!" Jessie screeched, grabbing the binoculars and strangling Meowth with the neck strap. "No. It can't be!"

* * *

The fresh smell of brewing tea awakened Misty, who yawned and stretched out upon the small futon, looking up at the domed ceiling. "What time is it, Brock?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

He was standing behind the counter of the kitchenette in his favorite floral apron, cooking up some rice for breakfast. "About five AM. Just wake up?"

"Ugh, we're still not there yet?"

"No, guess not. Viridian's a long way away, you know. I mean, remember how long it took to get from Viridian to Celadon the first time? Wasn't it, like, 24 weeks?"

"I prefer not to count that whole business in Porta Vista…"

"Huh?"

"But we were taking our jolly good time back then. Hell, we practically _walked_ the entire way. I'd've thought a direct flight wouldn't take so long."

"Well, it's not like we've got a jet airplane or anything. Might as well make yourself comfortable for a little while. Care for some tea?"

"Oh, yeah, thanks." She yawned again. "Say, speaking of which. How did Ash ever convince Charizard to go along with this?"

"Me, I think it's because he'd never seen Ash so angry before," Brock answered.

"I'll say. Ash looked like he'd become the destroyer of worlds."

"Yeah, I guess that flame'll only listen to someone just as hot-headed."

"Well, I hope they know what they're doing out there," said Misty, glancing at the curved wall of their little compartment. "Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, y'know?"


	10. Chapter 9: Truth

∞ ∪ ∋ : ƒ , = ℘ C

_Nine keys. I unlock the next door, and the next, and the next. Each door yields to one of the keys, opening to reveal its secrets. The more doors I pass, the more surely I know that these nine are all I need. That with them I will open the final door, the great gate of knowledge, behind which is found wisdom…_

_I slide the next key in. The lock clicks open, as I know it will. And yet, something is different. I can feel it._

_I freeze where I stand, heart racing faster and faster. Yes, something is wrong–_

_In the silence where there is no sound but mine – footsteps. From behind._

_I am not alone._

_I push the door open and yank out the key. I run across the gravel-strewn walkway to the door along the edge. One by one I try the keys in the lock, hands trembling. Come on, one of them has to work!_

_The footsteps grow louder. Come on! The eighth key, no, the ninth, no– what? Damn it! Need to try the first one again–_

_My fingers fumble too much. I drop the keys with a harsh clang. The footsteps quicken to a run._

_Hey, is that you? a voice calls out not far away…_


	11. Chapter A: Exception

Ash dug his whitened fingers tightly into Charizard's shoulders, barely feeling anymore the vicious sting of the wind against his face, having been tearing through the cold air for longer than he cared to remember. Any thoughts of sleep or rest had long ago yielded to the singular objective that now dominated his whole being – getting the Machine back from Team Rocket. If it took him to hell and back, he was not going to let them get away with this…

Misty and Brock might after about the seventh hour or so have wondered what had gotten into him, what could have possessed the typically short-attention-spanned Ash to go on such an insane mission. But as far as Ash was concerned, this was nothing new. His whole life was and always had been governed by one simple maxim:

_Gotta Catch 'Em All._

The round speck in the distance grew larger and larger, its form illuminated a brilliant red by the first rays of the morning sun. Through eyes sore and teary from the high-altitude air currents, Ash could see the unmistakable shape of the Meowth balloon.

_You're gonna pay for this, Team Rocket. You messed with the wrong Pokémon trainer._

He could now see the balloon's three occupants, hastily pulling it down towards the shore of Cinnabar Island up ahead. But they were not fast enough.

"Charizard, they're in range! Flamethrower Attack!" Ash yelled with the relish of one who had been waiting hours for this moment.

"Ri-ZAAAH!" the great lizard bellowed.

"Get down!" Meowth cried. The three of them ducked for cover as the attack bathed the balloon above them in a river of orange flames. The membrane vanished in a puff of soot and smoke, releasing its cargo into a perilous free-fall.

"Abandon ship!" shouted James, and they jumped overboard, deploying their R-emblazoned parachutes at an altitude rather lower than they would have preferred. The beach sand only softened the impact a little.

"Nyahh, I didn't land on my feet," Meowth groaned.

"Come on you guys," Jessie urged. "We can still lose him on foot!"

"Oh no you don't," said Ash, though still a fair distance from landing. He enlarged his special Pokéball and hurled it down to the ground in front of Team Rocket.

With a burst of red light out popped Misty and Brock, holding Pokéballs of their own, with Pikachu in the middle, ready for action.

"Pi-ka!"

"Going somewhere?" said Brock half-seriously.

"Not this way!" James responded, and the three of them ground to a halt and made an about-face.

Ash braced for the deceleration as Charizard spread his wings, leaned back for the re-entry, and landed right in front of them with a flurry of sand and a resounding _boom_.

Ash jumped confidently to the ground. "You're not going anywhere!"

James threw up his hands nervously. "Now now, can't we settle this like civilized people?"

"No we can't!" Ash replied. "You took my Machine, and you're going to give it back!"

"I told you not to put that stupid card in there," Jessie whispered aside to Meowth.

"Wow Misty, you were right," Brock remarked. "Ash really does mean business."

"Tell me about it," she responded.

"Well you guys, don't just stand there," Ash shouted across to them. "Send out your Pokémon, now!"

"But Ash," Brock objected weakly, "don't you think we should try reasoning with them before–"

"I SAID DO IT NOW!" he shot back at them with a fire only Charizard himself could have matched.

"Yikes, all right," Brock recoiled. "Go, Onix!"

"You too, Starmie!" Misty threw down a Pokéball of her own.

"Okay, this is it, Team Rocket," Ash declared. "You've gotten in my way for the last time. Now beg for mercy before I _destroy_ you!"

"Oh no, we're surrounded!" wailed Meowth in a panic. "Whadda we gonna do, whadda we gonna do…"

"Let's just give 'em what they want and get outta here!" James stammered.

"Listen, you two," answered Jessie, ever so slightly calmer than them. "We're not going down this easily. We have the Universal Technical Machine, remember?" She withdrew the device from her pocket. "We can make any Pokémon we want. We can win this for sure!"

"Really?" James replied. "Can we make a Pokémon that defeats any other Pokémon?"

"But James," wondered Meowth tentatively, the rusty engines of logic beginning to crank inside his head. "What if they copy it with a Ditto?"

"You're right, Meowth," answered Jessie. "That's exactly the sort of dirty stunt the twerps would pull. What we need is," she placed a contemplative finger on her chin, "a Pokémon that defeats all Pokémon, _including_ itself."

"But Jessie," said James, "won't it just self-destruct or something? How about," he suggested, "a Pokémon that defeats any Pokémon other than Pokémon which defeat Pokémon other than…"

"Gaaaah, I'm so confused!" Meowth interrupted.

Ash had reached the end of his patience with Team Rocket's dithering. "Enough! Charizard, Fire Blast now!"

"Onix, Rock Throw!" "Starmie, Hydro Pump!" "Pi-ka-CHU!" the rest followed.

"I never thought it would end like this," James quivered. Jessie dropped the Machine as they knelt down and gripped each other closely, in what might be interpreted charitably as a final embrace of devotion, or less charitably as an attempt by each to use the other as a shield.

"Nyaaah, enough already!" Meowth yelled as he snatched the Machine up out of the sand. The elemental attacks were hurtling toward them from all sides. "Machine, I order you! Make a Pokémon that defeats all Pokémon other than Pokémon that defeat themselves!"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

Silence. The clamor and tumult of the battle came to an abrupt halt, as though the natural forces impelling the movement of the Pokémon had suddenly departed to attend to some urgent crisis. Charizard's flames, Onix's rocks, Starmie's jets, and Pikachu's bolts hung motionless in midair, mere inches away from their targets, as the Pokémon stopped dead in their tracks. Meowth too stood frozen, staring blankly ahead, clutching the Machine in both hands, with his mouth still agape from his fateful last word.

The feeling was palpable, undeniable. Brock might have described it as a sense that the very progression of time itself had been derailed from its prescribed course. Misty might have likened it to that dreadful lurch one suffers when climbing a flight of stairs in the dark and stumbling through the nonexistent final step. Ash would only have been at a loss for words. But one thing was certain to all: something fundamentally, primordially wrong had just happened.

James opened his eyes and looked up cautiously. "Wh– what was that?" He timidly tapped one of Onix's rocks, which was floating in front of his face, and it drifted away, weightless.

"I don't know, James," Jessie replied. "Meowth, what did you just do? Hello, Meowth?" He did not move a muscle.

Ash looked around. "What's going on? What happened to all our Pokémon?"

"Is this some kind of attack?" Misty wondered.

"I've never seen anything like this before," responded Brock.

Neither had Jessie nor James, but Jessie stood up and laughed, savoring the sudden reversal of the position, already thinking of ways to use the situation to her advantage. "Well well well. Not so tough without those little pets to do your dirty work, eh, twerp?"

"Nnng, I've just about had it with you, Team Rocket!" Ash groaned. "Give us the M̡achi̸ne, or else!"

"Ash, your voice…" Misty whispered frightfully to herself.

"Oh really? Or else what?" James backed up and stood up himself. "What are you going to do?"

"Charizard! Pikachu!" Ash stuttered in protest. But it was to no effect. Much as he begrudged admitting it, they were right. So long had he taken the power of his Pokémon for granted that they had become virtually an extension of his body, but now without them his words merely faded into the wind. "Come on guys," he turned back to his companions, "there's got to be some̷ way of breaking the s̢p̨ell!"

"Ash, what's that sound?" Misty shouted. "Are yo̶ų ̀all r̴i̷ght?"

"Misty, you just did it to̵o!" said Brock.

"What̵'s ha͡ppe̛ning?" Ash stared at h̛is han͢ds, down at the grouńd, ànd bacķ at ̛Brock and Mi͢sty. "It's… they'r̸e…"

"Ash, look!" exc̢laimed B̨rock, pointing forw̡ard. "It's̵ the ́Machíne!"̸

Ash sp̡un aroun̡d a͡nd looked towards thȩ Mac͢hin̶e͢,still in M̶eowth's h̶an͢ds. The̡se̢… ̀t̵h́i̧n̴g̢s,̴ ̛w͡hatever the͡y wer̶e,̕ wh̸ether th͠ey were real̵, ̢or merel̨y an illusion, the̷y ̵seemed ţo b͢e emanating̡ fro̕m the Mac̕hi̸ne, ̵expa̢n̕ding in a ̨rap͢idly shiftiņg swarm, w̶hich ass̸embl͢ed itsel̶f intǫ someth́ing lik̢e a̧ rec̸tangu̢lar bl͡ǫck̸.

"͢What's that?" ask̢ed M͡isty. "Is that a Po͠kémon?"  
̀  
Ash pulled ou̶t his Pokédex, which ̴̛hitherto had ne͠ve͢r fa͢iled͢ him, onl̷y to be prese̡n̶ted̶ w̵it̶h a p͢lain blue̶ s̴creen f̴lashing̴ and spe͡aking à messag̵e: ̀"E̵RR̨OR – M̶ISSING ͠NUMBER."

He snapped̛ t̕he Pok̶édex shųt and clenched ḩis fis̢t ̕tightly. "All righ̕t, Team̀ Roćket̶, enough tri̢cks. Just̶ ̸what do ͡you ̀want from u͢s anywa̧y?"

̧"Hmph," J͠essie crosse̕d her arm͢s. "As I recall, it was̕ you w̕h̕o was chasing us. B̵ut I suppose, if you insis̛t. W̨hat s͠ay we̶ teac̶h'em a l̢esson, huh James̷?"

"That's̸ right," he agr͠eed, bending̛ dǫwn to extract th̀e Mac̶hiǹe from Meowth'̷s gr̕ip. "Thi̸s is ̕what ̢you ge̡t when you mess with̶ Team R̴ocket!" He̸ firmly pres͢sed the forwa̧rd-a̸rrow b̕utton̛ on the Machine'̢s contr̷ols, wit̕h a vague feeling̀ that he had don̶e sơmething likę th̴is before, perha͡ps̸ a͢s a child l̸ong͠ ago.

"What ar̛e you do–" Ash͢ tripped bac̴kw͢ard ońto th̨e̕ grou̷nd, s͢coot̢ing aw̶ay throu̶gh͡ the ̕sand as̷ the ̶bloc̵ky appari͡tion dręw cl̷oser to ̷him. "What̛ is̀ t̛his?"

"Go, Missi͡ng N̴umb̢er͡!" o̧rdere̶d J̡ames, ąs he̵ p͢ressed ąnoth̢er ̨button.

The ghost̀l̀y̷ ha̡ze of pixels, no̕w beár̢ìn̷g dow̷n ḑir͏ect͠l̛y ̵above ̶him, sw̡irled ̨a̧r̸o͏und a͘n̢d ̨around, faster ̴and f̶aster̡, unti̴l ̢w̨ith a͡ tįn̴gling ͡sensation he ͡f̴elt ͡himself͘ lift̶e̶d͘ up of̡f t͏he gròun͠d, int͠o ̀thę very h̨e̢art͏ of̢ ̵the whírlw͢ind. Outside̴ ̛of t̢h̵è ̨v̵o͡rtex h͏ȩ ̵co͡ul͢d͡ ha̕rd̷l̢y̨ ̕sèe a t̵h͏in̷g, ͢so͢ b͏l̛u͡rŗe̸d was ̡t̷he scene̴ by th͢e bloc̷ks r̨u͏s͠hing b̛y.

T̛he ̵t͏in̕gl̶iņg̴ gr͞ew ͠t̷o͡ a͏n i͜tch̴, whic͞h gre̕w͠ to ͞an a̶ch͡e,̢ ͘wh̀ich͠ ǵrew ͜tó a̢n ago̕ny so͢ ̡se̸vere͠ ̷that̴ ͞it ̸w̧a͢s ͢o̧nly̕ by͢ ̧sçrea̧mi̴ng ͝t͞ha͞t ̸he was̵ ab͜le to̵ b͢reat͠he͝ ͢a̢t a̢l̶l. T͢h̢é pa͞i̛n̵ ̕wa͝s ̛akin ̢t̀ó b̵eing̨ burne͜d̀ ͏a͢l̢ive, e͡x̕c̵ept i͠t ̡s̢e͜em̷ed̶ t̶o͝ be͏ c͢oming ͘f̀r̴o̢m͡ wi̧t͡h͢i͠n̕ ̵him̷s͞elf, a͠s i͟f n̨o̧t ̴eve̸n th͘e ̧d̶e̶s͝tr̛ucti̷on̛ o͏f ̶h̴i̴s bodỳ ̷w͠o̶uld ͘b̨e ́e̶nough̡ to̡ re̸lievȩ i͡t. All h́i̵s̷ th͘ou̕gh͡t̢s nòw d͟iv͏erţed ̧to ͠a̧ d͢esper̀at̶ę ̵pl͝ea, th̛at́ ̷he̵ ̧w̵oul̕d do ̛anyt̡h͡ing͏ ̕įf̢ ͡o͏nl̨y t̨ḩi̛s͜ to͡rţure̸ wo͠u̷ld́ e̢nd,̷ bu̸t̛ ţhe ̧wor͢ḑs̀ d̀id̛ n͢o̴t ma̕k͡e it͝ pas͏t h̸i͡s th͢ro̢at.

"H̸e̕ļp̶… me…̶"̢ ͜h͝e o̸n͢ly b́ąrel͟y voca̛l͢íz̕e̶d, b̸e͟fore͠ ͘re̵sum͝ing ̕h̴i̢s ͏fe͝ra̶l̨ ̨cr̷y̛.

H̼͇͓̬ͅe̵͉̬̝̬̮͔ l̴͓̱̳o͕͓͓o̞͕k̰̬͚͎̟̰͍e̻̬̣͓͉̲̲d o̡̘̟̖̟ut͚̭͇s͖̫̝̰͎͇͉i̩̹de͙̺̯͎͢ͅ t͓̭̬̗̰̤hr͉̪̣̕o̱͍̻̪͇̘ư͖̜͕̣̩͈͖g̲͠h̥̮̰̠̬ t͜h̭̻̳e̢̖̠̙̥̞ t̡ǫ͔̣̥͚r̸͓̰̭n̛͉̭̬̪a̴͚̟͇̘d͎͙̭̭̖o̥͉͟,̤̺ͅ an͖̫̘d̗̜̙͙̜͕͢ w̠̫̰i͉̤̲̥̩t̻͘ͅh͕̩̝̙̥͎̖͘ di̮͚̥̲̟̯͞f͚̘͇f͢ì̯͍̼c͇̙͜ụ̝̯̦͈̥l̟̞͢t̛͖̯y̳̜ c͏͕̥͖̭͉̬o̬͔̳̱̝̕u͖̥̣̦͢l̺̯̠͈͜ͅd̝͍̲͡ͅ m̮͡a̷̞͇k͏̤̩e̼̻͉̩̰͖ o̼͈ư͍̭͈͓͎͉ͅt͚̹̠̗͇ͅ B̠̮̠͇̲́r̞͔͠o̝c̫̗̰̳̘̳̀k̹̥̘͢ ḻ̶ẹ͈͍͚͔a̫̝̜͚̞͖͟p̼̠̭̰̹̺̼͝i̷n̙͓̬̫̠̻͟g͕̻̘̗̹͇͠ at̡̙͉͚̖̖ J̶a̢̱̥̣̻̺̦m͓̤̗e̛͚͕̥̭̦s̰̮ ẁ̩̪̥̯͉̺i̛t̛h a̘͖̣͇l̟̹l͓̩͓̖͍͍̰̀ h̙̥͜ͅi̧ṣ̶̰̬̰ s̺̝̰̮͟t̥̝́r̶̗̪͍̦ͅe̻̜͉̙͖̱ng͏̙̥̞t̢͚͚̱h͓̹ B̮͍͝r̞͎o̕ck̺̥̥̯͕͎̭ k̕ń͕̤o̜͡c͙̪̩ͅk͟i̬͡n͓̯̳̬̫̜͉g̩ J̪̥̘a̞̰̳ͅm̬̫̹̬͙e̡̫s̥͙̘̠̩͞ o̴̩͖͎̳͈̯̥f̦f͡ h͏̗̞̹̭iͅs̯͍̯ fe̮͈̣̱̳e̘̣͕̬͈̺̹t͔͉̙̜̜͚̜,͈ t̜̱͠͝h̶̡̹̰̬̜̜͈ͅe͓̳̺̦͖̖͕͡͠ M͝͏͇͓͎͎͘a̴̺̱c̱͞h͎ͅi̯̜͙̤̤̰͢n̷̸̗͙̱̼̦̹̭̗e̙̹͕ f̴̸̜l̝͕̬̘̺̺ͅͅy̨͈̼̮̭͈̣̝͢į̴͎̫̳͠n̠g̜̼͡͝ u͖͇̭̯̬̫͖̺͢p͝͏͓͔ ơ̷̧̰̖̮̠̳͙̘ͅų̦͕͉͉͈̠͞t̢̠̼͇̘̳͚̬͝͠ o̞̘͉͓̠̱f̵͚̯ h̸̻̜̩͉̙̻ͅi̕͏̧̟̠̝͔ṣ̣̜̞̕ h̩̜̯̘͉͉͓̜̕ą̠͇̼͖͖͘ͅǹ̷̡̝̳d̟͎̟͡ i̫͕̬̰̻̳̭̯ǹ̝͎̝͉̬̜̩̳͟t̪̪̩͉̩̮͎o̯͖̖̝ ț̴͔̲̤͚̝͎̀́h̹e͈͈̬̯͜ à̸̴͍̲͈i͞ͅṛ̖̜̜͜͡,̻̮̼̯ M̡̼̱͔͚͢i͕̬̰̪͍̜̮͟s̡̮͞t̘̫̭ͅy̟̘̳͘͡ d̪͎͍̣͇̱͕͢͡i̧̦̗̭͉̤̗̤͖v̶̛͈͓̘̱̲͙͉͘í̠̫̟̠̺n̗̟͚̖̭͔͠ͅg̨̫͈͉̻̳̯̖̻̥ ţ̦̥͉̼ò̵̗̮̗̝̀ s͉͇ņ̟̻͝a̛̠̣̠̻̬͘ț̵͍͔̩͈͓̦͕́͟c̛̳̟̳̰̜͎̼h̶̛̼̖̪̜̞̗͞ͅ ì̴̞͓̞̥̳̦͡ͅt̴̠̮̮͈͈̥̀ a̡̘̭̰͇͚w̷̞̪̤͘ͅa̶̷͍̦̦̬̭͕͚ͅy̧̥͈̙̥͖͔͔̻̞͠ f̯͉̣r̵̦̱͟o̶̜̝̯̯ḿ̛̲̝̳͘ J͏̷̖͈̯̟̝̮̪͚ę̤̟̳̙͈̩s̫͉̞͉̻̣͎͠͞ͅș̵̙̗̭̺̳͢ͅi͙̭̼͉̟̯̩͞͡ę̗'̗͉͓̹͚̝s̥̞͖͚͘͢ r͓̭e̷͍̞̩̥̙̠͙a̙c̢̪͎͉̬h͓ͅͅ,̠̺̠͖̖̮̼̳ͅ M̹̺i̶̧̨̺s͇̗̩̖̰͞ț͔̪͓͍̭̟͉͟ỳ̶̴̗͇ t̳̥͞e̱a͙̣̰̦̹̠͘͟r̢̲̘̲̹i̟͇̰̼ń͎̙̮̘̳̺̺͟g̣̱̱̼̠̲̱̯̀͢͡ t̮͎̳̝̼̫͝͞ͅͅh͏̯̦̦̬͚e̴͠͏̼̳̤͕͖͍̖͔ c͍̺̯̩a̢͚̮̤̙͔̲̪r̸̤͔̖̠̱t̗͔r̮͎̻̰͚͠͡ì̧͚̬d̗̲̺̱͍̜͔͡g̡̭͔̬͓̰͈̟͍͝ę̬͔̳̯̹̻ o̶̲͕̩̰̗̕u̷̴̬̗͙͙̗͟t̸̨͉̳͚̭̪̤͟ͅ ǫ̼̦̘͙̦̺͙̝̱̙͕̣̪̩̺͔̥͈͘͜ͅf̸̢͎͕̗̣͚̲͇̫̗̘̩̫̥͚̭̫́͘ͅ t̢̨̢̟̟̫̼̟̘̝͙͕̠͍͙̬̜͝h̵̬̤̳̥͓̫͘͜ḙ̵̷̼̮̖̦̱̬̫̟͕̦́͘͘ s̛̛̥̫͚̙͔o̸̴̢̞͉̦͍̩̱͍͍̣͍͎ͅç̨̺̣̜͈͍͖̭̻̩̲̮͎͙k̴̴̴͙͈̰̦̞̬̥̺͠e̖̟̼̳̱̲͔͖̪͘͘͜ͅͅţ̫͚̮̖̖̦̦–̢̛̞̠̲̗̙̺̹̮̲̬͓͜͞͡ ̶̠̩͙̬̰̮͟ ̞̙̼̪̱̱̣͚͍̀͘͢ ̴̛̹̮̻̪̲̠̺͙̕͜ͅ ̶͢͠͏̝̗̘͖̣̱̺͈͓̲̠͔̻̞͍̠̣ͅ ̷͉̩̼̦̠͟͝͠ ͏̯̹̲̦̮̥̺͇͍̪͍̖͞ ̡͝͏͕̮̟̮̝͈̞̼̫͢͟ ͍͔͕̰͕̣͚̱͓͓̰̟̥͓̭͞͠ͅ . ̵̵̻̳̦͇̖̱̻̬͍̘͠͠ ̴̴̸̢̛̰̹̫̲̘̯̱̬̘̻̖̖ ̡̛͝͏̸͉͍̗̰̳̲͓̗̻̙ ̸̛̘̭͎̯͚͎͙͜ͅͅ ̛̝̰̠̣͖̖̠̝͙̮̲̜̰͈̭̜̱͍́̕͢͡ ̷̡̦͙̬̮̩͘͜ ̶̧̤̰͎̙͉̜͇̙͉̬͇͖̠̰̝̠͓͇̣͢ ̵̡͖̘̞̘̞͔̹͍͚̘ ͖͉̖̥͉̙̪̰̱̪̳̟̤̟͇̗̥̩̜̀͟͟- ̘̗̝͍͚̤̰͙̪͟͜͞͞ ̶̢̣̳̩͓͖̩͉̜̝́͟ͅ) ̴̶̥̤͎͚̮̦̘̬̰̦͎̼̭̜͔́͠ͅ ͜͡͏̗͉̖͉̼̬̘̠̝͎̘̰̙͍ ̵͇̰̼̦̯͉͕̖͇̫̙̰̰̖̯̜̦͢ ̶͕̫̙̖͓͇͚͚͇͉̀͢ ̵̛̩̹̯̭̠̪̫̬̮̟̜͚̻͓̘̞͕͜ ̴̶̨̮̙̣̙̺͇͙̲͇̖̠͙̯̀ͅͅ ̶̣̟̫̥͕̦͈̟ ̧͇̰̠̗̹̟͈̪̫̼͔̀́̕̕ͅ ̸̡͉͍͙̦̪̜͈̳̺̻̗͙͉̮͍̥͜͜ͅ ̧̢̦̫͍̮͉͉̖̝̫̟͍͇̠͘͢͢- ͜͏̟̟̭̣̣̠̪͘ ̷̷̶̡͓̻̩͍̝̯͖ͅ ̸̢͎͉̬͕͔̞̹͕̗̪̣͈ ̡̢͏͙̯̜͎͎̖̠̞̭̫ͅ. ̴̧̝͈̰̮̺̠̹̗͉͈̪̪̀̕ͅ ͇̖͇͖̪̱̣͘͝ ͏̧͖̻̹̪̻̳̜͙͕͖͎͚̪̮͍̥̖̮͜ ͏̧̛͈̩̩͖̭̩̞̣͘͡ ̶̴̨̙̩͔͈͓̖̹̗͚̙͙̀͘-) ̡̫̩̱̭̲̝̟̗̺͉̼̺̮͓͍̥͟͟͡ ̢̛͔͓̰̺̣͎̼͠ ͓̠̜̻͚͍͙͔̟̥͎̰͜͠ ̴̨̞̤͓̭̝͟ ̴̛̦͓̳͍̠̪̝̪̹͎͎̬͈̥͖͢͠ ͜͏̡̘̪̘͖̤ ̧̱̟̜̼͖͉̙̟̹̜̻̰̺̹̗̩͓͝ . ͘͏̵̬͙̖͇̝̣̘̳̮͕̺͓͇̻̪̲̕͟ ̵͈̟͙̲͚̹̞̦̩̯̝͈͎͢͝ͅ ̨̰̤̜̜̩͈͕̞̝̥͚̟̬͘͘ ̶͏̼̘̰͓̺͕̕ ̸͙̬̪̳̜̣͉̺͍̤̜̥̬̼̖̼͍̕͡- ̷̛̫̱̻̮̜͕̪̹̮̞͖͓̟̼̦̥ . ̡͔̹̙̣̜̘͓͕̦̺̖̥̜͕̜̼͕͇͟͡ ̷̵̝̼̹͔͘͝ ̹̯̫̖̬̯͕͇̦̖̯̼̟̤̩̲̯́͘͝ ̟̭̟̠̖̱̙̲̟́̕͡ ̷̴̹̯͓̪̦͍͓͍̜̬̪̮̬̪͔͡͠ . ̷̪͚͍̰͓̱̹̀͢͡ ̝̩̻̼͓̗͔̼͙̞̪̝̘̯͈͘͞͠ͅ ̶͔̫͖̙̖͜͟͢ ̻͕̬͉̯̮̱̪͍͢ ͇̹̰̼̤̺͕͓͓̮͓͍̮̯̠̙̮̖̀͜͜͞͞ͅ ̴̸̸̦̹̜͍̙̝̤̺̱̯͕̳̭̞̞͉͘ͅ ͚̯̘̣̮̗̮͟ ̴̧͓͉̰̺̦̰̠͇̀ͅ ̡̩͉̦̺͙͙̤̤͈̯̝͍͞ͅ ̜̯̖̹̳̩̳̜̰̀͟ͅ ̷͚̣͔̠̥̣̣̬͔̲̭̗̤͔͔̳̘̤̟̀́͟ ̶̡̺̣̳͈̙̤̼̟̳̼͕̘̠̲̥͇̜̳ ͜͏͕͖̹̱̘̼̣̝͕͕̱͈̼̙̳ ̸̛̖̮̱̙͈͈̺̤͓́ͅ- ̵̧̡̡̺̟̰̘͖͈̭̣̳̳͙͇̘͙̫̞̻ͅ ̵̺̫̲̩̰̘͇͇͈͔͓̞͕̘͈͓͈͡͡ ̡̫̹͙͇͓̣́͢͡ ̣̣͉̬͈͍̺̼͜ͅ ̮̪̠̺̤̣̤̙̻̖̺͍͙̥͙͖͟͠ͅ ̯͚̥̦̮̠̜͞ ͚͖̣̠͍̫̠̞̰̭̺̲̠̀͝ͅ- ͠͏̼͔̪̣̫̝͔̟̲̱̹̪͖̺͚͇͖̬ ̢̡̱̰͔͇̗̰͇͘͞ ̺̹̹̠̻̭͔̮̟͈̞̳͎͕̰͍͈͚́͠͝ ̦̝͉̬̼̮̥̝̬̲̳̟̣̼̞͠͠ͅ ̶̵̩̹̳̩͚̮͉̦͍̻͍̝̳̳̤͡ ͏͏͏̦̗͇͙̲̫̜̦̼͕̮̫̪̬ͅͅ ̶͖̠̯̹̖) . ̷̵̸̛͉͇͉̲̣͍͇͇̘̕ ̴̷̗͙̖̖͔̤̩͉̭̘̞͇͙͘͞ ̸̡̟̦̻̬̗̺̺̠̕͜͡ ̷̧͙̣̩̥̹̫ ̴̡̬̻̩̤̤̼͚̘̥͇̬͢͡ ̩͈͚̼̣͔̪͕̪̙͍̗̯̝̹̞̕͝͡ ̴̶̨̲̰̗͖̗̤̻͇̰̺̤͇͘ͅ ̵̢̹̝̼̝̳̙̗͇͚͚̫͍̣̜̦̞͔ͅ ̶̨̭̲̯̟̰̼͉͖̞̼̥́͞ͅ ̡̲͕̜̞̤͘ ̧͔͇̖͎̼̘̬͞ ̸̷̟͕̭̲̠̭̞̺͚̙̹̘̖͙̬͜ ̶̨͓̰̜͖̫̯̱̲̺͙͉͍ ̵̢̤̯͍̼͔̥̳̙̰͇̼͖̣̞͕͞ͅ ̸̷̳̜͇͇͖̬͓̮̦͔̬̰̪̯͙̺̺͎ ̸̵̛̹̟̥͉͔ͅ ̴͓͍̹͎̘͇͎̱̠̤̮̫̝̳̜̀͜͠ ̧͈͚͔̟̩̹̤̪̗̲͕̟̘͍̀͡͞ ̵̸̧̻̰͔̮͙͉̫͇͚͓̀͜ ̬̳̱̹̼̥͈̯͎͟ ̶̢̧̭̖̝͢͠ͅ . ̷̨̛̤̙͔̳̭̗̳̲͎̤͔̖̬͝ͅͅ ̶̡͙͉̟̯͚̯͢ ̷̡͞͏̟̮̯̪̯͖ ̨̡̛̝͍̺̙̺͓͚̤͉͈͙̠͎̬̜̱̜̣̬͇̖̀̕̕͜͠͠. ̛͍͔̳̦̝͈̱̥̤͚̱͚̪̱ͅ ̻̪̩͉̼̭̥͉͉̳̜̦̦̬̰͙̀͝ ͔̙̙̠̟̙̬́̕͡ ̴̵͝҉̱͕͓̼̬͍̝̜̜̥̖͈̦̝̦͈̰̙ ̛̦̠̺̫̱̥͇̠͔͉̲̦̖̗̠͓ ̸̷̥̣̦͍̜̬̬́͟ . ̸̷̧͓̗̟̤̺̙͘͜ ̴͟҉̬͍̗͇͍̗͖̫̹͙̥̥͚̯̥̜͚ ҉̷̷̗͇͎͎̤̙̰̯͖͉̘̳̕͢ ̴̮͔̙͚́̀ ̘̟̼̘̫̫̕͘͜͡ ̡͜͏̖̘̩̦̜̘̗̦̥̻̮ ̛̱̫̟̫͜͞͡ͅ ̶̷̨͉̜͈̪. . . ̮̗͖͓̤͕̣͚̤̲̜̦̹͘͟͝ ̶̞͔͍͖̪̪̟̝̜̠̟̳̼̠͍̝̝́ ̶̡͎̺͕̖̜̠̗̣͇́ͅ ̴̵̬̘͕͈̦͙̦̹̖̠̜͉̺̬̖͘͞ ̶̛͢͞͏̳͉̘̘͇͕͇̗͎̙̣̬ ̨͉̗̟̤̫̦̟̬̘ . ̢̢͍̞̯̘̝̪̗̰̞̪̯͕͇̟̥̘͞ ̨̞̻͔̣̭͘͡. ͏̲͉̘̱̜̘͎̲̩̞̮̀̕ ͇͔͖͝͝. ̙͎̬̰̥͈͈̭̞͎͜͠ ҉̷͏̼̪̮͖̭̼̠̟͎̰̣̦͕͎̦͢ ̢̢̛̖̭͔̹͓͉͇̹̥͞͡ͅ ̨̡̣̩̙̼̱̝̩̯̜͚͔̞̀. ͘̕͢͢҉̱͙̱̩̤̣̲͕̟͔̘͚̝͖ . ̷̡̨͇̖̟̖̪̼̟̫̼̜̘̝ͅ ̨̨̡̜̣̤͙̰̝̫̞̻̞͈̺͙̞ͅ ̸̵̵̞̝̻̟̳̝̩̜̙͓̘̙͎͓ͅͅ. ̡̡͓͇̜͔̙̺̟̗̱̕͠ͅ ̸̨̦̪̗̣̝̟͍̩̩̯͎ͅ ̶̡̺͚̮̜̖ ̧͖̭̗̹̯̀͢͝- ̵̛͖͖̠̪̲̮̙̙̭ ̵̡̨̦̻̦͍̟̪̲͚̱̻̦͡ ̨̕҉̳͎̺̥͓̬̱͇̬̥̣͔͠ ̡͕̳̞͓̘̀̀͟͜ ̢̡̮̗̥̜̠̖̦̤͘͝͝ ̶̙̖͎̗͚̦̰̜̲̪̝̤͓̦ ̤̰̯̮̜̰̯̞̗̹͓͓̦͎̜̤̹́͢͜ ̥̹̞̩͎͓̣͔͖͉̹͎̥̕͟ ̡̣̪̜̠̹̘͓̖̭̠̬ ̡͏̸̥̱͍̭̩̯͉͚̫̜͍ͅ ̲̦̜͜͟ ̵͇̙̼̭͚̀ ҉͎̞̪̤̳̦̞̫̟̻͖̲͔͕̥͝ ͢҉̵͍̗̥͕̳̼̼̘̤̟̼̮̩̠͓̘͕ͅ ̷̷̣̖̠̖͙͕̤̣̬͠͡ ̵̸̺͇̣̮́͡ ̷̛͔̜͕͕̼͔͔̲͉̻̲̱̗͔͟. ̸̪̗̜̜̺͔̱̳̟͖̦̠̣̝̟̺̪̪̺͜ ̢̛̩͖̳̭͞͞ ̷͕̜̯͓͚̮̬ . ̵̫̤̪̲̫̼̗̹̭͍̼͈͉̣̯͟͞ ̧̩̟̘̺̩͙̟̥̳͖̤͠ͅ ҉̴̡̦̟̜̱͍̝̼̫͇̯͍ ̴̛̬̠͈͈͇̖. ̴̡̪̺̤̯͞ ̸̧͓̳͍͢ ̷̧͉̦̞̹̗̮ ̴̴̗̟̗̞͚̱̖̯͔̟̳̳͓̳͡ ͇̮̦̝͔̻̠̹͓̬̤̥̬̱̗͞ͅͅ ̞̼͔̪̤͉̮̫̳̟̪̺̖̲͖͜͟ . ̷̲̼̫͖̝̱̳̹̪̳̮̱̗ ̛҉̟͔̱̜͍̖̹͙̗̖ ̵̶̹̠̱̯͉̱̳̀́̕ ̸̠̬̺̘̹̗̗͍̤͉͕͎̗͕̘̻̺͟ ̨͕̖̰̮͈̟̤̻̯̳̞̫͇̘̯̺͚͙͟ ̣̬̘̩̪̯͓͚̺̞̭̪͔̤̭̯͘͢ ̳̬̫̟͎͈͍͙̟͍̥̪̖̣͢͜ ̛̖͔̪̜͇̘̦̞̀͘ ̨̕͏̰̮͙̻̙̯̪͉̫̭͎͉̠ͅ . ̸̦͕̟̱͙̪͉̖̹͘͢ ̸͜͏̷̳̲̹̻͇͚̬̭̺̜̮͔̮ ̸͟҉҉͈͓͎̹̤̘̤̰͚̻̞̣̗̩̦̬̦ͅ ̷͇̭̠͙͉̬͕͇͙̻̦̯̻͎̀ͅ ̢̡͖̰͉͎̱͚̙̪̱̤̲̪̺̱̺͢͡ ̷̸̴͎̥̬̗̭̬͖̕ ̧̝̬͚͍͚̕͠ ̨̱͈͖̜̤̲̝̺̗̰́͜͝ ̡͍̻̞̟͝͞ ̵̧̻͖͙̺͈̙̝͇̤́͝ͅ ̡̨̠͓͍̩̭̜̭͓͇̜̀́͡ ̳͎̹̙̰̤̜̙̻̘̖̬̹͘ͅ ͏̦̲̞̞͇̻̞͎̙̰͍̯͇͈̯̫͕́͜͠ͅ ҉̶̷̷̳̰̳̜͙͙̺͈̟͈͙͓̤̺̗̼̼̦̖ ҉̡̡̛̘̰̥͙̻̣͚̹ ̸̡̘͎̥̗͚͠ ̶͏̵̰̹̤̬̼̞͢ ̶̣̻̰͈̼̤̲͕͚̱͉́ . ̶̵̧̥͖̠̱͈̞̼͍̣̜̠̙̦̥͘͟ͅ ̷̭̻̜̥̗̪̙͕͓͕͍̜̩͍̞̺̦̹̕ ̸̲̲̣͖̲͎͎̪̝̱̹͢ ̸̶͏̳͓͔̰̱͈͙͉͢ ̧̢̡̯̟͇͈̲͖̲̯̙̪̣̱͙̕ ͔̳͓̙͙̀̕͜ ̵̢̥̬͍̖̗͕̫̖̞͚̬̥̀͡͡ ͉̝̞̖͉̯̙̗̺̤̬̟̪̺̤͚̬͘͝ͅ ̢̰̣͕̖͖̫̜̫̺̭̲̟͡ ̱̤̘̗̟̗̙̀͢ ͉̟̼̰̲̪̱̫͔͘͟- . ͉͔̭̪̟̤͕͍͇̞͘̕ ͏̴͔̣͍̻̭͕̰͍̤̙̦̹̪̜͕̤̟̞ ͕̠̯̱̣͇̙̖̣̝͙̩̠̜̠̗̺͠͡ ҉̙̼̪̤̜̳͙̺̟͈̭͔̜̹̼̀̀̀͜ ̸̛͝͠͏̱̰̣͍̜ ̴̸̶̡͔̳̬͈̫̝̹̹̤͖̞̺̕ ̨̧̫͈̯̬̤̣̣͇͇̼͕̩͇̣͘ͅ ̸̧͈͕͓͓͔͎͇͞ ͉͉̻͉̙̫̥̞̱̜̥̝̘͉̠͡͞ ̤̺̥̩̦̳̬̖͉̳̤̖͈̀̕͞ ̸̢̻̱̱̦͉ͅͅ ̮͙̻̭̜̣͉̩̗̫̪̻͇̀͠ ̧̪͎̠͚̭͎͎̝͇͓̼̱̱̘́͞ͅ ̨̛̲̹͎̻͙̗̕͞͡ ̴͏͏̤̠̻̘̰̪͕̲͕̙̣̪͚̖ ̸̵̷̪͎̱̯̺͎̟̩͇̫̗͓̲̫̖́͞ͅ ̟͈̺͎̤̖͉͎͍͜͝ͅ ͠͏̜͈̞̻̞̹͈̖̀͠ ͈̳̱̦̪́͘͜ ̸̯͚͎̻̥̯͔̭̩̠̖̹̫̦͘͘͟ ̵̕͝͡͏̬̙͓͚̞̦͉̦̤̥̮̪͚̹ͅ ̷͢҉̸͕͓̙̠̥̰͙̞̮̼͇̙͎͓̜̺̣̹͎̕ ̢̡̱̦͚̯̠͕͖̥̝̼̜̺̲͖̀̕͘ - . ҉̶̡̣͚̺͓͎̖̪̰͈̀͘ ̵̖̣̤̝͉̻̳̤́͞ ̳͖͎̱̥̪͎͔̮͉͢͢ ̟̠̘͚̠͓̞̥̠͇̫͈͚̺͔̪̫̭͘͠ ̷̠͕͖̝͈̳̺̖̰̭̥ ̛̲̙͇̻̦̣͖̤̞̤͚͚̫̜͇͘͘ͅ ̢̩̠̬̯̱̟͍̤̳̻͎͕̮̱̳̭̭͢͜͠ ́͏̟̭̥̪̞̼̦̖̫͙͔̱ ̴̨̢̖̹̻̖̬͚̪̯̙̤̹͔̩͉͖͠ ͚͍̥͍̳̣͇̯̖̥͔̟͎̥͕͢͡ͅ ̸̨̫̥̩̫͈̪̙̲̲͍͖̪̻̰̫̥̻ ͏̴̥͙͈̗̭̙̪͕͉͇͚̯͇ͅ ̧̜̘̗͇͉̖̘̝̣ ͖̼̳͓̫̫̬͎̻̺̲̪̳͈͢͝ ̶͍̣̯̣̩̱͚̲͡͝ ͡͏̠̺̰̰̟̥͓̺͙̲̬̝͚̳ ̷͓͇̹̲̗͎̹̖̗̠̤͎̯̕͟ ͘҉̥̱̘̯̜̦͔͎̖̩́͟ͅ ̸̢̡̼͍̤͎̼̗̺̲̹̘̝͈̹̥̦͙̪̫͢͞ ̴̨͕̫̪̻ ̨̱͇͍̝͖͍͖̱͕̰̬͕͟ͅ ̵̡̜̭͇͔̺̟̕͟ ̢̕͟҉̧̮͖̭͎̫̰̝͔̼̼͓̣͙͔̞͚̭ ̷̷̺͚̳͓̰̺̖̼̟̞̗̀͝͡ ̞͉̳̣͖̜͙̘̫͝ ̶̴̴̟̣̘̹͇̪̼̪͔͉͇̗̰̫̱̤̝̘̺͢͠ ̙͉͖̝͇̜̗̮̞̺͍̗̲͓͖̪͕͙͠͡ ̸̛̘̝̟̥̻͉̬̤̝͓͍͇͓̣͎̱͖̮͖͘͠ ̧̯̭͚͕̘͙̞̩͚̲̣̳̯̥͉͖̀͘͠ ̕͟͏̺̩̲̮̺̗̻͈͡ ̵͍͉͖̰͎̀ ͇̠̥͈̹͡ ̵̱̼̩̦͙͇͍̬͙̭́͘͟͠ ̸̧͓̺͎̲̪̪͉̼̖ - ̡҉̳͓͍͚̲͎̭̩̩̼̮ ̕͟҉͍̹̼̤̱̺͇͖̦̥̩̹̳͇̤͕̼̕ ̞̫̫͈̞̱̼̜͈͕̰̝͍̕ͅ ̶̛͖̺͖̬̰̥̥̘̝͉̱̗̩͈̬̲͉͘͜͜ͅ ̸̢̝͓̪̻͎ ̵̛͉̝͈̬̘̭̯̖̣͍̱̜̪͓̗̳̩́͡ ̶̡̼̱̙̲̯͖͕̯͖͈̮̣̜̭͙̝̕ ̴̵̛̙͍̹̦̤̻̗̗̥̞̠͇̣̭̯͇̼͓̕͘ͅ ̴͟͏̷̝͕̲͙̘̯̩̹̳̪ ͢͢͠͏͓̗̹̗ ̵̨̢̪̳͇̹̻̝̘̟͖͈̪̹̲̤̤͡ ͢͞͏̪̫̜̙͍̫̟ ̡҉̷̧̧̙̭̙͚͓͕̜̙ ̣̺͉̠͕͈̀͡͝͝͝ ̵̨͈̟͉̥̗͈͚̻̰͈̞̠ͅ ̵̵̜̗̞͚̫̰͇̯͓̙̟͚̣́ ̛̺̻̬̮͕̱̖̝͎̜̼̖̯̦̜̀͘͞͡ ̴͍͈͈̥̪̕ ͖͟͝ ̵̝͙͕͉͍͚͕̪ ̡͈̜̭͍̝̭͇͖ .. ͍̹͢ ͓̝̻̰̩̣̜ͅ ̵҉̜̬̣̳̮ ̸̣̱͓̭̙̲̞̙͠ ̛̱͓͖͕͡ ̮̳̳͚̘͇͓͉ ̶̘̰̫͖̩̗̺͔͞͠ͅ ͉̟͉͕̻̥͔͝ ̴̡̤̲͖̞̞͖̹̫ ͙̲ ̟̲̞̥̖̖̟ ̙̝͈ ͈ ̩͡ ̶̝͉̦͔͜ ̴̤̼̩̗͚̠̮ ̗̗͎̗͘͟ ̢̝̖͜ ̱̯̣̟̯̘ ̡̺̱̘̠̀ ̼̯̞̬̪̤͞ ͔͇̮͖̺̻͚͢ ̷̵̰̳̳͈͈́ ͓̲̟̗ ͙͎̦̩̩̞ ̴̗͔͇̖̯̪́ ̭̮͓͔̺̪ ͓͙͚̪̬̼̭͘ ̷͔̪̠͉̭̙͟ ̗̩̭̫̱͚ ̷̨̦̜͉͈͓̲ͅ . ̸̬͕̰͝ ̸͎̪̪̤͎͈ ̫̗͖̤͖͚̰̞ ͢͏̵̖̻̳̥̰̱ ̶͓̪͍̤̝͓̞͈́̕ ̹͢͝ ̩̹̠̗͚͓̀ ̴̢̨̣ ͏̤̦̕͝ ̬̬͉͖̣̝̕͜͡ ͚̞̺͚̬̭̲ ̜̺͖̹ ̢̝̬̪̜͢ ̴̧͚- ̡̫̥͙͇͍͚ ̡͖̺̲̤͟͝ ͍̤̥̙͎͖͖͎ ̴͈͙̗ ҉̻̺̗̤̭̬͖͎ ̧͉̟̗̗͜ ̜̭̳͚̝̝͔ ̵͍̞̯̰ ̨̛̤̦͔ ̟͈͍̼̭̟̱̞͢͟ ̻̫̹̬̲͟͟ ̴̠̫̦ ̬̱̬ ̷̫͈͝ ̵̞̤͔̗͓̪̺́͘ ̷̳̕͘ ̵̥̣͝ ͏̣̗̗̹̼̬̤ ͈̗̹̤̖͘͢ͅ ͏̣̳̻͈̯̖͓͕͙̀ ̴̜͉̳͠ ̮͙͔̬̤̥́́ ̷̴͖̤ ̡̼̞̜̜̯ͅ ̢̠̞̩̖̫̫̻͕͞ ̴̫̻͙̩̫̬̭͡ ̘̯̖͍́ ̷̳̤̥̖̜̙̯͢͝ ̼͎̘̝̠͞ͅ ̩̟͎͎̤̖͔͈͢ ̶̵͇̗̟ ̛̘̱͕̪͞ ̞ ̼̹͈̠͡ ̜̜̗ ̧̗͖̣̯̬͜͠ͅ .. . ̛̥̣͎͝ ̳̗̞̜͢͝ ̧̩͈̲̘͔͈̼̱͖̕ ̦͎̣͕̞̣͝͞ ͉͎̰͜ ̡̙̦͇̫̭̣ ̛̮̼̙̮̦̻̥͖͞ ̦̤̻͈̼̥̩ ̙̜̤͓ͅ ̭̖̦ ̴̳̟̥̲̳̙͙- ͉̮͍̰̦ ̧̛̘͉̥͍͖̙̟͎̬͟ ͇͙̹̟̤ ̴̵̠͎͈̱͉̝͙̭ ̧̪̯̺̣ ̸̩͕̲͢ ̶͚͚̜̯̠͉̳͕ ̘̞̜ ͚͎͚͚̙ ҉̜̬͈͜ ̥̺̲̟̘̭͢ ̶̤̱̳͢ ̜̯͟ ̷̡͔̟͓̻ ̷̬̳͙̯̫̰̞͠ ̕͞͏̦ ̬̠͙̬̰̖͖̕ ͎̱̮̮̫̜̲ ̰͢ͅ ͙̥̗͈͜ ̵̴̗͎͙̱̮ ͙͢ ̪̩̬̀ͅ ̲̟̺̪̕̕ ̧̧̠͍͖͚͉̙̫ͅ ̜̖̝͎͞͝ ̖͈͕̪ ́͏̦̼͓̲̦̩͙̣ ͍͉̝̯̠͉͘͘ ̢͓̳͎͘͜ ̡͖̬̠͍̥ ̡̡͈̖͢ ̛̳̹̙̗̰́͡ ̧̙̹̗̙̕ ̡̹͈̘͕̝ ̳͎̲̬̥̭ ̡̤̺͕̮̼͎̞̫ ̷̙͍͖̙͉̳͟͟ ̶͚̱͍͟ ̤̳͇͓ ̼̗̗̯̼̼ͅ ҉̦̖̜͎͔̱̦ͅ ̯̪̪͢͡ ͓͓̣̦̭̙͖̰͡ ͕̞͟͝ ҉̴͚͉͉͖̭̞̝͖͝ ̴͍͚̥̣͢ ̠̬̟̲̠̀͢ ̩ ͖̺͜ ̵̼̫̼̳͇̕̕ ̜̲͍͢͜ ̢͈̯ ̣͓̣̞̻̯ͅ ̘͔ ̛̹̜͉̖ ̯ ̪̻ ̲̠̫̯͍̙̘͝ ̗͘ ̫͉̻̳͙̝ ̪͎̹͓͇̗͘ ̳̳̩̭̙͈̜ ̴̳̻͚̜ ̞̜͕̣͉̘͢ ̪̯̘̻̦͎ ̜̪̘͉͎̫ͅ ̙ ̸͎̥͚ . . ҉͎͙̟͇ ̡ ̴̖̯̬̬ ̹̯ ̵̜̗̲͚̯͔̣ ̹ ͠ ̗̝̟̙̮ ͏͕̖̞̱̲ ͔̹̘ ͎͠ ̞͎͇̭̻ ̲̞̙͓̱̕ ͓̪̘̕ ͇ ̱̼ ͖̭̗̮̬ . . . ̝͇̣̼̤͟ ̙͈̦̠͖ ̳̩͓̜̙̗̹ ̩͖̣̤ ̜̠̪ͅ- ̵͔̯̗͚̝͔ ̵ ̨̩̱̱̹̬̻ͅ ̗ ͚̜̠̬̪̦̟͢ ͕̺̤̤̘ ͏̩̠ ̝̞͕͉̬ ͙́ ͈̬̲̻̭ ̴͍̝̬͇̮̙ͅ ̞̖ ̳̖ ̱͡ ̰͝ ͚̪̳̙ ̥̱̱̬ ͉̻͎̠̟̞ ̩ ̲͇̩̮̘̕ ̢̘̭̦̠ ̙̩̱́ . ̞͕́ ̧̤̭̲͙̰̤ ̻̦ ̘̟̘͚ ̡̥̮̬̗̘̭̭ ͓ . ̼̤̖̲ ͙̰̺̜ ̛̱̬̪͎̱ ̢ ̛͎̪̼̬̞̜͓ ̵̪̤͕̜̼̗ ̖ ̻̗͚̻͈̻ ̭̟̹̟͚̜̺ ͏̭̫̦̹̯̮ ̳̫͚̫̲̞ ̸̹̳̭ ҉̼̦͕̜ ̞̜͠ ̯̰̙̯̻͠ . ̤̥̗̱͝ ̯̫̙ ͚̬ ̱̭͎̮͉̠͜ ̖̖̙̝̱ ̖͓̝̪̻ͅͅ ͇̥͍̫ ̶̪͓͔̻̱̫ͅ ̻̱̗͔̫̳͢ . ͠ ̝͚̙̲͙̜ ̜̪̦̮̹ ̭̥̠ ҉ ̨̣̦̗̰ ҉͕̣̱͙ͅ ͍ ͈̮ ҉̖͎̩ ̼̯̱͜ ̯ ̯͕̩̠̼̟̕ ̣̺̙̟͔̤ ͝ ̭ ͏̙͙̥̟͎̤̦ ̨̰ ҉̤̦͖̪͖ ̨̭̼ ̰̱͉̫̩̮ ̗̻̰̜̺̝ ̡ ̹̰̫̺̥̦ ҉̫͉̰̱̹̗ ̠̠̬̤̭ͅ ͕̝͔̠́ ́ ͉̞̪̩̪̪͜ ̘ ̗̼̘̬̜ ̫̺̗̝͢ͅ ̢ ̬̯̙̺͞ ̨͍͙̳̥̼̙ ̬̻͖̫ ̢͉ͅ ̩̟͙̝̬͡ ̸͈̥̫͖͉͇͇ ̞̯̺̻̱͔̤ ͜ ̣̗ ͔̣̥̱ ͖̝̰̪͈͈̕ͅ ͙͞ ̭̩̺͔͔ ̧ ̻ ̧̮ ̦̗ ̫̟̟͔̱͓̜͠ ̻̝̙̦̺́ ͜ ̳̝̣̖̘͉̮͜ ̝ ̺͎͝ ̬̬͎̹̙͡ ̦̰͖̲͢ ͎̥̲ ̡̧̠̹͖̭̀ .

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

どこかしら？


	12. Chapter B: Corruption

It all happened too fast to see.

The suspended attacks resumed all at once, converging towards the now unoccupied point above and behind Meowth, who had barely an instant to regain awareness and dive down for cover. The conflicting forces of the fire, water, earth, and lightning combined to expel a deafening blast, sending a shockwave out through the sand and knocking all the Pokémon and their trainers off of their feet. The rectangular spectre in the center, the focus of all the mayhem, vanished in a mosaic of horizontal stripes, dropping Ash onto the ground.

"Ash! No!" Brock cried. He and Misty, along with Pikachu, pulled themselves up from the ground and stumbled over towards where he had lifelessly fallen.

"Are you okay Ash?" Misty grabbed him and and shook him by the shoulders. "Ash! Please, say something!" But he did not move; his eyes remained shut.

"Careful, Misty!" Brock pushed her back gently.

Pikachu hopped over next to his face. "Pikapi! Pikapi!"

Misty looked up at Team Rocket. "You! You did this to him!"

Jessie waved her hands weakly. "We're terribly sorry, but this is really none of our business, you see. And y'know, like we always say," – she snatched the still bewildered Meowth up into her arms – "when the going gets tough–"

"–The tough get going!" James completed, grabbing the Machine again from the place where Misty had thrown it in the haze of the battle. They spun around in an unceremonious dash towards the wooded area up a short way inland from the shore.

"None of your–?" Misty yelled back. "You– you evil scum! Come on Brock, we can't let them get away!"

"Misty, get a hold of yourself!" Brock responded sharply, looking up from examining Ash's body. "We've got something more important to worry about!"

"I– but–" she stuttered, torn for a moment as she watched Team Rocket disappear into the dark forest. "...I'm sorry Brock, you're right."

"Good." He rolled a pair of Pokéballs over towards her. "Now recall the Pokémon and give me a hand here."

After wordlessly returning Starmie, Onix, and the far-beyond exhausted Charizard to their respective Pokéballs, she went over to join Brock and Pikachu in kneeling beside the motionless body.

"Is he hurt?" she whispered. "Is he–"

Brock placed one ear against Ash's chest. "He's still breathing," he reassured her. "But we need to get help right away. I'm going to go call an ambulance. You stay here with Ash, okay?"

"…Okay," she assented. Brock stood up and ran over to the nearby road in search of a telephone, turning out of sight around the bushes.

Sparks crackled at Pikachu's cheeks, as he struggled to contain his sense of panic. "Pi… ka… CHU!" He delivered a sharp jolt to Ash's body; but failing to effect any movement, he retried with an even greater force.

"Pi-ka-CH–"

"No, Pikachu!" Misty pulled him away. "You'll hurt him!"

Pikachu withdrew the charge with some effort, burying his face silently against Ash's arm.

Misty propped up Ash's head with her hands, feeling the warmth fading from his cheeks. "Please..." A tear dropped down from her onto his peacefully closed eyes, though she hardly noticed. "Hang in there, Ash..."

* * *

Brock paced nervously outside the door of the emergency room, checking his watch again and again, while Misty sat in a chair by the wall, Pikachu on her lap, staring at the tiles in the floor.

After a subjectively interminable wait that had nevertheless been under an hour by the clock, Nurse Joy emerged from behind the door with a clipboard, taking Brock by surprise.

"Nurse Joy! It's–" His face began to grow red, according to his usual custom, but sensing the impropriety of the circumstances, he stepped backwards and took a seat, suppressing his instinctive response.

"Yes, you may know my sister from the Pokémon center," she answered in a subdued voice.

Brock looked back up at her. "Well? Is Ash okay? What happened?"

"Well, you see," she began solemnly, "we examined your friend thoroughly, and aside from a typical degree of fatigue, he seems to have no _physical_ injuries."

Misty suddenly perked up. "Does that mean he's all right?"

"Not quite," the nurse qualified. "Perhaps you would like to see him?"

Brock and Misty nodded silently, and followed her through the swinging doors, down a clinically pristine white hallway, and into a room a few doors down on the left. Inside, Ash lay by the window on an inclined bed, connected by the wrists to a shelf of beeping machinery.

"Pikapi!" Pikachu jumped out of Misty's arms to hold himself once more against Ash's now pallid face, but he did not so much as stir.

"Oh my..." Misty covered her mouth in surprise. "What–"

"See, look." Nurse Joy approached her patient and carefully pulled back his eyelids, exposing his eyes darting back and forth seemingly at random, as if searching for something.

"Is he– Can he see us?" Brock asked.

"That's the thing, you see." She lit a small bright flashlight and waved it in front of Ash's eyes, which seemed to pay it no heed even as they continued to look in directions unrelated. "You'll notice that his eyes don't follow the light. At the same time, he's perfectly fine physically, like I said, but we've still be unable to awaken him. We tried everything. We even tried putting him in a chair and tipping it backwards. But still, nothing gets through. It's quite a mystery, really."

"Is that it?" replied Brock, somewhat curtly. "You're saying there's nothing you can do?"

"I'm sorry," she answered, "but without knowing more about how this happened, I'm not sure if we'll be able to help him any more. If you would, could you please describe the events that led up to his injury?"

Misty and Brock gave a glance at each other, but said nothing.

"I assure you, your secrets are safe with me."

"We– He had just flown all the way from Celadon City," Brock began matter-of-factly. "He hadn't slept since yesterday morning. There was... we got in a Pokémon battle, and then, this one Pokémon... this _thing_ attacked him, and–"

"Interesting," said Joy, making a note on her clipboard. "Do you remember what kind of Pokémon it was?"

"I– I'm not sure," Brock replied, looking back over towards Misty. "Misty, do you know–"

"It said _Missing Number_. It came from this," she said as she offered forward the cartridge she had taken from the Machine.

"Misty!" exclaimed Brock suddenly. "I thought I told you to get rid of that!"

"I see." Joy took it out of Misty's hand and inspected the small thin square of plastic, examining the thirty-two tiny copper terminals exposed at one edge. "This battle... it didn't happen on the eastern beach by any chance, did it?"

"What are you talking about?" Brock inquired sternly. "What do you know about it?"

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, and set the cartridge down on the round table beside the bed. "There are people here who say there's something strange about the eastern shore of this island. Stories of surfers and swimmers who go to that beach and never return, of boats vanishing without a trace. The phrase _Missing Number_ gets thrown around a lot."

"What does that mean?" prodded Brock.

"I'm sorry," she replied, shaking her head. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. It's only an urban legend. I don't really believe it myself."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Misty accused with sudden defensiveness. "Or do you just think we're crazy?"

"Again, I'm sorry, I really am," Joy replied delicately, "but as a nurse I can't treat my patients based only on unscientific speculations. Your friend's condition is stable, we can assure you that much. I do wish we could have been more helpful, but I hope you understand the difficult situation we're in."

"Yes, thank you, Joy," said Brock, more for the sake of form than anything. The nurse bowed slightly and quietly excused herself.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Misty wondered, exasperated.

An idea occurred to Brock. "Misty, do you think Professor Oak might know something about this 'Missing Number' thing?"

She sighed and transferred her gaze to the ceiling. "Well, I–" She contemplated the prospect of having to tell the story yet again, but no alternative presented itself. "I guess Joy's not going to help us anyway…"

"I'll call him right now." He walked over to dial the video-phone mounted beside the bed. "I hope he's there," he said.

After a few rings the professor appeared on the screen, in his typical lab-coat and sunny disposition. "Why hello there, Brock, Misty! How are you?"

"Um, well…" he muttered, not quite sure how to answer such a question. "I think you should know, Ash is, uh…"

"He's unconscious," Misty finished the thought, having regained her composure somewhat, and moved to the side to open a line between the camera and Ash's bed. "We got him to the hospital, but they can't figure out what's wrong."

"Oh dear," Oak recoiled a bit. "What happened? Is he hurt?"

"See, that's the problem," answered Brock. "They said that there's no sign he's hurt at all, physically at least. That's why we don't know what to do."

"Very troubling indeed..." He rubbed his chin.

Misty again took up the cartridge from the table and presented it to the camera. "Professor, do you know what this is?"

The color seemed suddenly to depart from Professor Oak's face at the sight of it, and he threw up his hands in a protective reflex. "That thing– Where did you get that?"

"So you do know what it is?" Brock interjected. "You know about the Universal Machine?"

"They made me swear I'd never tell–"

"I had a feeling you wouldn't help us," Misty concluded. "Just like Nurse Joy. You must think we're crazy too."

"No, Misty, please, listen! I could get in a lot of trouble with some very powerful people for telling anyone what I know about this. So could you, if you knew. I just... I didn't want to burden you with that responsibility."

"We're prepared to do whatever it takes to save Ash," Brock replied sternly. "Are you with us?"

Oak rubbed his brow anxiously, hesitating a long while before answering. "Very well." He vanished offscreen and returned holding a faded photograph, which he fed into the scanner on his end. "There is someone who might be able to help you," he began. "An old friend of mine."

Brock tore the printout from the feeder by the phone, looking at its mugshot of a severe old man with a scraggly beard and thinning gray hair. "Who is this guy?" he asked skeptically.

"You may wish to sit down; it could take a while to explain," Oak prefaced, before taking a sip of water from his glass. "It's the story of a man, and a project called _MU_..."


	13. Chapter C: The Halting Problem

Professor Oak began his story.

"This man – Professor Vattha was his name. It was many, many years ago, at the Silph Lab on Cinnabar. It might be hard to tell by the look of it nowadays, but that place used to be one of the nation's foremost Pokémon research labs. As an eager young scientist, I had long wished to someday work there, and so, when fresh out of university I received their offer of a position, I wasted no time in accepting.

It was there that I met Professor Vattha for the first time. He had already been working at the lab for some years prior, though only a little bit older than myself. He was always a rather quiet and shy man, but I soon grew to be one of his few close friends. Every weekend we would enjoy going for long walks in the park, where we would share with each other the manifold joys and perils of our respective work; I would tell him all about my research into the evolution of Pokémon, how I dreamed of one day finding the common ancestor of all Pokémon alive today, and he would listen with fascination.

He used to be a Pokémon trainer when he was young, he told me. Like many of his peers, he went off on his Pokémon journey when he came of age, getting his first taste of adventure. He too saw with amazement the wonderful complexity of the world we live in, the delightful diversity of all the different Pokémon, the awesome task that lay before any who wished to comprehend it all.

However, the life of the journeyman was not for him, he said. It was in _mathematics_ that he found his true passion. In this sphere, his was a mind of unparalleled genius. In what little of his work I could understand, I could sense the presence of a true master of the art.

_In a way, it's very much like catching Pokémon_. That's how he described it. The mathematician must assess the strengths and weaknesses of each line of attack, maneuver delicately through the thicket of truth and falsehood, until arriving by a path theretofore unknown to the elusive conjecture of one's desire. And yet, once proven, the once fearsome theorem rests faithfully by one's side, lending its aid to one's arsenal of mathematical techniques, in the quest towards ever greater knowledge.

Being myself a scientist of a more practical bent, I wasn't sure if I could ever _fully_ understand this joy. Yet it made some amount of sense to me. I could see how the pursuit of mathematics might become an adventure of its own, to someone so disposed.

But there was one question that impelled him above all. It was the question that had driven him after mathematics as long as he could remember, and which continued to drive him, night after long night. Whereas I wished to unify the lineages of all the Pokémon, he had set his sights upon a much grander vision. On one night, in a moment of idealistic fervor, he looked up at the stars and confided in me what was his true dream: that mathematics would explain _existence itself_.

Such a lofty aspiration struck me as a little far-out-there, I admitted to him. Surely not _everything_ could be reduced to mathematics alone? Surely there must be something greater than a mere mechanistic understanding of reality? And how could mathematics ever hope to explain why the universe should exist in the first place?

Yes, he confessed, he could not _prove_ that such a thing could be done. If he could, then his quest would already be complete. But, he went on to explain, his confidence rested upon a supreme faith in the primacy of _logic_ as the source of all true knowledge. Our feelings, our prejudices, our perception, everything else might be called into doubt – but logic alone stands as a firmament amidst the tempest of uncertainty in which we find ourselves. If through mathematics – the ultimate expression of logical certainty – we could bring the Universe itself to rest upon such a foundation, then would that not represent the greatest triumph of the human mind?

I could hardly think of what to say. For a moment I really thought I could finally see what he had been getting at this whole time. And yet, I could not escape the nagging sense that there was something unsettling about this single-minded obsession, something slightly inhuman about the world of rigid absolutes that he envisioned. But who was I to question a mind such as his? Perhaps it was merely my own irrationality speaking, the vagaries of my flawed human intellect that could not comprehend the perfection of mathematics.

This sense soon faded, and the years went by as we continued along with our respective research. But one crisp autumn night saw my worry resurface anew.

It was around midnight. His wife came knocking at my door, apologizing profusely for coming at so late an hour, but, she said, she hadn't seen her husband for over three days. It wasn't like him to disappear like this, she told me, and she asked if I had seen him. But when I thought about it, though usually we would encounter each other at least briefly during the course of a day, I had to say that I hadn't seen him either.

_I'm terribly sorry for bothering you, then. Good night, Professor._ She left before I could say any more. But she had planted in me the seed of an ever-growing concern, and I was now too restless to go back to bed. So I set out for the lab, thinking perhaps he might still be in his office in the mathematics department. I proceeded through the deserted, moonlit hallways towards his room and knocked on his door, but hearing no reply I let myself in. There he was, fast asleep, face planted on a scattered stack of papers beneath a still-shining lamp. I tiptoed around him, observing at once with marvel and with puzzlement the hoard of disassembled computers and electronic machines that surrounded him, the half-soldered chips and wires strewn all about the work-bench. I may not have been a mathematician, but something told me this wasn't mathematics.

I nudged him gently on the shoulder, and he awoke with a start. He muttered incoherently for several seconds before saying any understandable words. He must have lost track of time, he said. He apologized as he gathered together the papers on his desk into a folder and pushed me rather brusquely out the door, locking it behind us. I told him how worried his absence had left us, and that he should get home right away to his wife. He agreed, apologizing again, and hurried away towards the exit, leaving me standing somewhat bewildered outside the locked door.

It was another week or so before I saw him again. I was just leaving after a late night working at the lab, walking down the steps outside, when I collided with him as he was running up the other way. _Oh, haven't seen you in a while_, I remarked, helping him collect some of the books and folders he had dropped. _What've you been up to recently?_

_Oh, nothing, just... busy with work_, he replied.

_Well what's this?_ I picked up one of the folders, whose label read 'PROJECT MU.' _Is this what you're working on?_

He snatched the folder out of my hands. _I really shouldn't... I'd better get back to work_, he answered.

I looked at him more closely, startled upon noticing for the first time the change in his appearance. His hair was long and disheveled, his normally primly-fashioned clothes were dirty and unkempt, and his dark, wrinkled eyes seemed to belong to a man far older than he. _Is everything all right?_ I asked him.

After a moment's hesitation he sat himself down heavily onto the stairs, rubbing his brow and sighing deeply.

_Whatever's the matter, you can tell me, I persisted. Please, I just want to help._

He looked back up at the night sky, stars shimmering through nascent tears, perhaps recalling that night years ago when beneath the same stars he had last confessed to me the secrets of his heart. He began in a soft, pained whisper, each word a struggle unto itself.

He had been seeing hallucinations – these _visions_, he called them. He strained to explain further. He said sometimes it looked like something was out of alignment; that he would see little spots of jaggedness or brokenness within his field of vision, but then he would blink and they would be gone. The words he finally used haunted me: he said it was as though he were trapped inside some vast theater, as if the world he saw were just an image, playing out on a screen that was crumbling apart piece by piece.

I was taken aback. This was more serious than anything I could have imagined. I asked him if he thought it was related to his work, but he didn't answer. I was going to take him to a doctor right away, I told him. _Your wife misses you_, I said. _I miss you._

He looked at me for a long time. He was tired and weary, and longed to set down his heavy burden. But with a great force of will he stood up again. _No, I can't_, he said. _You know how long I have sought the ultimate theorem of mathematics, the secret of existence itself. Now at long last that end is within sight. I have come too far to throw that away now._

I protested, making clear that I wasn't asking him to give up. I only wanted him to take some time off to rest and recover, to worry about himself for once.

_I'm sorry_, he replied. _I'll have plenty of time to rest when I'm done. But if I don't go on now, it will be lost forever._

Before I could think of what to say, he was gone.

Plenty of time, indeed. The next morning I heard. He had been found in his lab, alive, but unconscious. They rushed him to the emergency room, but though they found no physical injury, they were nonetheless unable to rouse him from the coma into which he had fallen. Whatever this _MU_ project was, they shut it down the very next day. He was soon transferred to long-term care in Viridian, and it was not much longer before our superiors closed the lab for good.

It was I that broke the news to his wife. She didn't accept it at first. She stayed with him every day for months, holding on to the hope that perhaps the familiarity of her voice, or the touch of her hand, might be enough to awaken him. But it was not. I could see her growing weaker day by day, trapped within the futile illusion that her dear husband might yet return.

I begged her to come back home, to resume her life once again. But she resisted. _You want me to give up on him?_ she quivered as she asked. _How can you know he'll never wake up?_

_You're right_, I admitted. _You could wait by his bedside an eternity, and still you would never know. Is that what your husband would have wanted?_

She turned back to look at me, eyes shaking with fear and anger, perhaps because deep down she knew I spoke the truth. _He would have had you smile again_, I continued. _To carry on to the future._

She looked down contemplatively and folded her hands over her stomach, a gesture whose significance I only later understood. _Yes, you're right_, she replied after some time. She stood up and shuffled methodically out the door, pausing one last time to deliver her final farewell.

Our separate lives slowly but surely settled back into normalcy after that. Time heals all wounds, I suppose. I eventually was able to move myself to the lab in Pallet Town and continue my Pokémon research here.

Nearly a decade passed, during which I had been perfectly content to put the whole unpleasant affair out of my mind. But one day I was suddenly forced to revisit it, when a letter arrived from the hospital in Viridian. It said nothing but that my presence was requested, and that it was about my old friend Vattha.

The doctors told me all the gory details as we walked down the hall towards the psychiatry ward. He had suddenly awakened, they said. Just like that. Stood up and left the room on his own two feet. He started running frantically around the hospital, saying that he needed to find a pen immediately. They quickly caught him and restrained him. He went on and on, protesting incoherently until they sedated him. We reached the door of his cell, through which I followed the doctors cautiously, afraid of what I might find.

I introduced myself. He continued mumbling to himself some strange jargon, rocking his body back and forth within his straitjacket. I called out to him again: _It's me! Sammy!_ He stopped and looked up at us, staring wide-eyed at me for what must have been a full minute. _Don't you remember me? _I said.

He looked away and resumed his muttering, paying us no more attention. _We thought he might recognize you of all people_, one doctor said. _But now we know he really is gone._"

Misty and Brock paused for a long time, taking all of this in. Brock looked back at Ash's peacefully sleeping body. "Are you saying – if he ever wakes up, will he remember us?"

"I don't know," Professor Oak replied. "There is very little I do know. But if you ever want to find out, you must find this man."

"Then it's settled," he replied. "We're flying to Viridian City right away. Right, Misty?"

Misty examined the scanned photograph again, letting it fall limp in her hand. "Thank you, professor," she said.

"Yes, thank you, and goodbye," said Brock.

"Goodbye, and good luck." Oak signed off.

They returned to Ash's bedside and clasped his cold hands in theirs. "We'll save you, Ash," whispered Misty. "I promise."

They turned around to depart. "Take good care of him, Pikachu," said Brock.

"Pi-ka."


End file.
